About A Boy (Again), Again
by RobotRollCall
Summary: Missing scenes and extra stuff come together to create an extended edition of "About A Boy (Again)". This is a series of one-shots that takes place within the original story, adding extra cute, extra feels and extra humor and continuing the adventures of Big Brother Dean and Mini-Sam, not forgetting, of course, their favorite 'garden angel'.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So, after the overwhelmingly positive response I got to "About A Boy (Again)" (Thanks for that, by the way, guys, you're awesome!), not to mention the fun I had writing it, I've decided to continue on with the story. This is...we'll call it an extended edition of the original story, with maybe a tiny little twist-the antidote this time around takes around a month to stew, instead of the original three days. No danger to little Sammy's memories or anything, just more time for me to play in the Big Dean/Little Sammy sandbox._

 _This won't be one sequential narrative, but just a bunch of one-shots that I'll post as they occur to me. I've got a few lined up for posting already, but I'm open to ideas, so if you have suggestions for chapters, drop me a PM. (Keep it canon and no slash, please.) This chapter has a little bit of action-a thought as to what might happen when the hunting world accidentally collides with Dean and Mini-Sam._

* * *

"Dean, when we get home, can we have lunch?"

Dean snorted. "What do you think we just bought all this food for, man?"

"Cause de frigerater was empty," Sam said seriously.

"Yes," Dean agreed, rolling his eyes. "But also for eating. Gimme your hand, buddy," he added, shifting the groceries to one hand and reaching down as they approached the edge of the sidewalk. Sam obligingly reached up and put his little hand in Dean's as they crossed the parking lot. "What do you want to eat?"

Sam's answer was cut off with a yelp as a man jumped out from behind the Impala. He snatched Sam up out of Dean's grip with a surprising amount of strength and raced away down an alley off the side of the parking lot.

"Hey!" Dean yelled, groceries already on the ground and gun in his hand as he sped off after them.

The man tripped over a pile of boxes and went to the ground, rolling and coming up with Sam still in his arms, a knife somehow at the boy's throat.

Dean skidded to a halt, holding up his hands. "Whoa. Easy now. No need for things to get messy. Whatever you want, you can have it, just don't hurt the kid. You want the car? Cash? I got like two hundred bucks here," he said, reaching for his wallet and taking a step forward.

"That's far enough, hunter," the man warned.

Dean stopped, gun swinging back up into position, praying it was something a regular bullet would take out. Everything else was in the car, and no way in hell was he leaving this guy with Sam, who had been kicking and screaming until the knife came up. He was whimpering and shaking now, a scrape on his cheek from the fall to the ground, his large, frightened eyes pooling with tears. "Look, I don't know what you are or what you want, but just put the kid down, okay?"

The man snorted disdainfully. "You've been hunting me for this long, and you're going to play dumb now?" His fingers clenched angrily around the knife at Sam's neck, pressing a little harder, and Sam let out a soft whine.

"Hey, Sammy, it's okay," Dean said, his voice softening as he looked down at his terrified brother. "It's gonna be okay, I promise." He looked back up at the man. "I'm not hunting you man, I swear. Just let me have the kid and we can go our separate ways, alright?"

The man snarled and his eyes flashed silver. Crap. Regular bullets weren't going to take down a shifter. "What else would you be doing here, if not hunting me? Ah, ah," he cautioned as Dean inched closer, pressing the knife harder into Sam's neck and drawing a thin trickle of blood.

"Dean?" Sam whispered fearfully.

"Don't be scared, Sammy, it's gonna be okay," Dean promised. "Just keep looking at me, alright? It's gonna be okay." Sam swallowed hard and nodded, crying silently. Dean turned cold eyes up to the shifter. "I wasn't hunting you before, but if you touch him again, there is nowhere on this earth you can hide from me. Put. Him. Down."

"Not so fast," the shifter hissed, backing up a couple of steps. He shifted his grip on the knife and moved his hand up to grab the lower half of Sam's face. "Their little bones aren't very strong when they're this young, are they? You put that gun down or these little bones will be getting a lot littler."

Dean's gun clattered to the pavement. "Look, you got beef with me, fine, but the kid's got no part of it. Just let him go, and we can talk it over or punch each other out, or whatever it is you want." Sam was trembling and breathing a lot faster, nearing a panic attack, but his watery eyes were locked firmly on his brother.

"I let him go, what's stopping you killing me?" the shifter demanded.

"You let him go and you can just walk away," Dean promised. "I just want him, I ain't coming after you."

The shifter considered for a long moment, then smirked. "Alright." Before Dean could blink, the shifter had hefted Sam into the air, and with super-human strength, tossed him across the alley. He hit a dumpster with a resounding clang and crumpled to the ground without a sound.

Dean barely had time to feel the Mark surge to life before he was on top of the fleeing shifter, unaware he'd even moved. Rage and blood colored his vision and all he saw was red. The shifter screamed and fought beneath him, and the Mark burned hot and exultant as he pounded the creature into the ground. He used his fists and his feet until blood and shifter goo oozed across the pavement, triumphant rage pulsing at the anticipation of the kill.

"Dee?"

One weak, shaky little whisper, and the rage disappeared like a switch had been flipped. Dean spun on his knees to see Sam stirring feebly on the ground. The shifter forgotten, he rushed to his brother's side, rage and bloodlust replaced with concern and a fierce protectiveness. "Sammy?" he asked, kneeling at his side. He reached out a hand toward his brother and paused at the blood he saw on it. As Sam blinked hazily, Dean quickly stripped off his outer shirt, spattered in shifter-blood, and hastily (but thoroughly) wiped the blood from his arms, hands and face, balled up the shirt and tossed it into the dumpster before Sam could see it.

"Sammy?" he asked again, not hesitating this time as he reached for his brother. Sam blinked his way back to full consciousness at the touch. Aside from the thin line of blood on his neck and the scrape from the fall, Dean didn't see any more blood, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "You okay?"

Sam's face crumpled and he shook his head. "Dee," he whimpered, reaching an arm up to his brother.

Dean scooped him up without hesitation and cradled him to his chest. Sam cried out and tried to nuzzle into Dean's chest all in the same motion. Carefully, Dean pulled him back. "What's wrong, Sammy? What hurts?" he asked softly.

"My arm hurts," Sam moaned. Dean looked down at the little arm pressed between the two of them and swallowed down a surge of anger that didn't come from the Mark this time. Sam must have hit his arm the wrong way against the dumpster—an odd angle in the middle of the forearm showed an obvious break.

"Okay," Dean soothed, pulling him back carefully against his chest, trying not to jostle the arm. "We'll go and get that fixed up right now. You're gonna be okay, Sammy." He got to his feet and began making his way back to the Impala, Sam tucked up small and shaky against him. "I promise. I'm right here, and it's gonna be okay."

* * *

At the hospital, things weren't going quite as planned. Dean was in the waiting room, and the only thing stopping him from punching out the cop in front of him right now was the knowledge that if Dean got arrested, Sam was currently unable to take care of himself.

"You think _I_ did that to my brother?!" Dean demanded, not bothering to try not yelling.

"Sir, calm down," the officer began. "I'm just—"

"I told you, we were mugged," Dean snapped. "Is that why you won't let me back there? He's three, for crying out loud. He's terrified and hurt and back there with a bunch of strangers, and you won't let me see him because you think _I'm_ the one who hurt him?!"

"Sir, please…"

Elsewhere in the hospital, the pediatrician on duty was having no easier a time of things. The little boy sitting on the table in front of her had what looked like a broken arm, was a possible abuse case, and wasn't letting anyone touch him. She expected tears when children were hurt, but this little guy…Sam, the chart said, was screaming, crying and kicking anyone who came within reach of his short legs. One of the nurses had almost gotten close enough to touch him, and had been bitten hard enough to need stitches for his trouble.

"Sam, please," the doctor began, raising her voice to be heard over his cries.

"No!" Sam yelled. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! I! Want! Dean!"

"Sam, we just want to fix your arm—"

"No!" he screamed. "Where's Dean? I want Dean!"

She rolled her eyes. There were three adults here, how were they being out-matched by a three year-old? Fine. If getting someone in here would calm him down enough for her to treat him, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. If 'Dean' did turn out to be an abuser, well, they weren't leaving him alone with the kid, and Security could handle it later. Right now, she needed to fix this before he hurt himself any further.

"Okay, Sam, we'll go and get Dean."

The effect was immediate. "Really?" he choked on the sudden stop of tears.

"Mm-hmm. I just need you to answer some questions first, okay?"

"Okay," Sam said uncertainly, inching closer to the wall when one of the nurses moved.

"Sam, you don't need to be scared to tell me the truth, okay? Did Dean do this to you?" Sam looked puzzled. "Did Dean hurt your arm?" she elaborated.

"No," Sam said, the confusion in his eyes so deep, she couldn't help but believe him. "Dean takes care of me, he doesn' hurt me," he added, still looking baffled that she had asked the question.

She nodded at one of the nurses to go and find Dean. "Who did hurt you, Sam?"

"De bad man," Sam whispered, clutching his arm closer to himself. "He…he grabbed me an' ran away, an' Dean ran after him. He wanted Dean to do somefing, and Dean said dat he should put me down an' dat Dean would let him have what he wanted, but den he hurted me and frowed me an' nen I waked up an' Dean was hitting de bad man, an' nen he picked me up and said we had to come here so you could fix my arm but de people took me away an' I want. My. Bruvver!" he ended in a scream and started crying again.

Dean set off at a run behind the nurse who came to get him, shouldering his way rudely past the cop. He could hear the yelling from halfway down the hall and picked up the pace. He skidded into a room where a thoroughly exasperated doctor and nurse were keeping back from Sam, who was huddled against the wall on top of the exam table and shrieking his little lungs out.

"Sammy," he said, and Sam's cries stopped abruptly. His head jerked up, red, watery eyes locking onto Dean's face.

"Dean!" Sam cried, stretching out his good arm in a plea for contact, and Dean swooped in, dropping to sit on the table and gathering Sam carefully into his lap.

"Sh, sh, it's okay, Sammy," Dean soothed, stroking his hair as Sam burrowed into his chest. "It's okay, I gotcha." He spared a moment to shoot the doctor a glare. "Any reason you haven't done a thing about his freaking _broken arm_ yet?"

"You're the first person he's let close enough to touch him," the doctor sighed. "He's already bitten one of the nurses bad enough to need stitches."

Dean smirked at that, and turned his face back into Sam's hair to hide his grin. "Atta boy, Sammy," he whispered.

"If you can calm him down," she continued. "I'd really like to get him taken care of before he hurts himself any more."

Dean gave her a quick nod, then returned his attention to Sam. "Hey, buddy, hey, it's alright. It's okay, man. I'm here now. I'm here. You down there somewhere?" he asked, nudging gently at Sam's chin with one hand. Sam turned a tear-stained little face up to look at him, and Dean smiled reassuringly. "There you are."

"Where'd you go, Dee?" Sam asked quietly. "I don't like it back here by myself."

"I know, buddy," Dean said, carding a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. They wouldn't let me come back here, but I got it all straightened out, and I'm here now. Not going anywhere."

"Good," Sam said, clenching the fist of his good hand in Dean's shirt.

Dean rubbed his back and planted a light kiss on top of his head. "How about we let the doctor take a look at your arm, huh?" Sam whimpered and gripped his shirt tighter. "Don't worry, I'm staying right here. But let's let her fix it so it'll stop hurting, huh?"

Sam considered, then nodded reluctantly against Dean's chest.

"I need to move him somewhere for an x-ray?" Dean asked.

"We can do it here," the doctor said, amazed at how quickly the little boy had quieted. "We just need him to lay down."

"Alright, Sammy, down you go," Dean said, shifting Sam down to lay on the table. Sam kept his hand tightly wrapped in Dean's shirt. "Sorry, buddy, this is gonna hurt a little bit." Very carefully, he lifted Sam's injured arm and moved it to lay flat on the table. Sam moaned in pain, tears starting to pool in his eyes again. "There we go, all done," Dean promised. He moved his hands back, one resting on Sam's head and placing the other on his chest, rubbing in slow circles. "I'm so sorry, kiddo," he whispered. Guilt washed over him as Sam fought to control his tears—he should've caught up to them before the shifter got the knife out—hell, he should've been keeping a better lookout in the first place! Seeing 'grown-up Sam' in pain tore him up enough as it was, but watching the little guy hurt like this was an open wound. "You're gonna be okay, Sammy, I promise. Just a little longer," he added, watching the doctor maneuver something he assumed was an x-ray machine across the room. "I'm so proud of you, Sammy," he said, meeting the scared little eyes. "You were really brave today."

Sam's nose wrinkled up and he looked away. "But…I was scared."

Dean smiled warmly and nudged Sam's face back to look at him. "It's okay to be scared. Can't be brave if you're not scared in the first place," he told him.

Sam considered this. "But…but you don' get scared. An' nobody's braver 'an you."

Something warm started glowing in Dean's chest at his little brother's praise. "I get scared, Sammy," he told him. "All the time. But if you keep going, even though you're scared, that's what makes you brave. Just like you did today."

Sam thought this over, then a small smile appeared on his tear-stained face. "Fanks, Dean," he said softly.

"Alright, we're ready," the doctor said, hating to interrupt the tender moment. "If you could just lean back, Sir."

Dean moved his hands back, leaving one on Sam's good arm as they positioned the machine above his other one.

"What's dat?" Sam asked nervously.

"It's called an x-ray," the doctor said.

"Is dat going to make my arm better?"

"It's going to take a picture of the bones in your arm," she said. "So we can see where to put them back together."

Sam's eyebrows crinkled thoughtfully, then his eyes widened in fear. "But my bones are inside my arm! Are you going to take dem out to take a pitcher? Dean, I don' want her to take my bones out!"

"Easy, buddy, easy," Dean soothed, just managing to hide a smile. "They're not taking your bones out. That right there," he pointed at the machine. "Is a special kind of camera. It can see straight through your arm." He poked at the muscle of the uninjured arm. "And take a picture of the bones inside."

"Promise?" he whispered.

"Would I let anybody take out your bones?"

Sam shook his head.

"That's right," Dean said. "So, you just lie still while she takes the picture, okay?"

Sam nodded, warily watching the machine as it was moved closer to his arm.

"Good boy," Dean said, squeezing his arm reassuringly. "Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I broke my arm?"

"Uh uh," Sam said, turning away from the machine to look at him. For the next several minutes, Dean spoke in hushed tones about a tussle with a werewolf—edited for scary parts—while Sam listened with rapt attention, completely ignoring the activity around him.

"Alright," the doctor interrupted at last. "It's definitely broken, but it's a clean break and will set back together nicely." She looked at Sam. "Would you like to see the picture?"

Sam looked nervous, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he nodded. The doctor clipped the x-ray to a light box on the wall and flipped a switch. "See this right here?" she pointed to the bone. "This is the bone inside your arm. And this," she pointed to the break. "Is where it's broken. These two pieces should be stuck back together."

Sam stared intently at the x-ray. "I fot bones was white. How comes mine are gray? An' how can dat camera see inside me? Can it see uvver fings 'sides my bones? Can it see inside my tummy what I had for breakfis?"

Dean chuckled. "Tell you what, when we get home, I'll find you a book about x-rays, and we'll read all about them. What do you think?"

"Dat sounds good," Sam agreed.

Dean looked back up at the doctor. "So, clean break, huh? That's easy to fix, right? How long will that take?"

"We're prepping in the O.R. now, and Sharon here has something to put him out so we can get started right away."

Sam's fist clenched in Dean's shirt again. "Dean, what's goin' on? I don' wanna go away again."

"Sh, it's okay, Sammy," Dean said, running a hand through his hair. "Nurse Sharon is going to give you a shot that will make you go to sleep, and then they'll fix your arm."

"No! Dean, I don' wanna!" Sam protested, pawing at Dean's shirt with his good hand.

"It's alright. I'm not going anywhere, and I'll be right here when you wake up," he promised.

"But…but I don' wanna shot," Sam whimpered.

"Sammy, I'm not gonna lie to you—the shot is going to hurt just a little bit. But putting the bones back together is going to hurt a lot. The shot will make it so you can't feel it." Sam whined softly, his eyes flicking away from Dean and to the needle in the nurse's hand. "You've been so awesome today, Sammy," Dean told him, cupping the side of his little face. "You think you can be brave for me one more time?"

Sam looked back up at him, determination and fear warring in his eyes. "I can try," he whispered.

"That's my boy," Dean said proudly, stroking a thumb across Sam's cheek. "Just keep looking at me, alright? Don't even look at the needle and it won't be that bad." He talked faster as Sam flinched at the needle poking at his arm. "Look at my face and tell me if I need to shave. What do you think? I think I need to shave."

"You're all scrufty like when Daddy comes back from working wif Uncle Bobby," Sam told him. "Cept you smell better."

Dean laughed in surprise at that, earning him a small giggle from Sam. "Well, I guess that's something." He smiled again as Sam blinked and he could see the wave of lethargy from the shot wash over him. "Just go to sleep, kiddo, and I'll be right here and you'll be all fixed up when you wake up."

"Okay," Sam said, blinking a few more times.

Dean kept stroking his hair as his eyelids fluttered shut.

"Dean?" Sam asked sleepily.

"Yeah, buddy?"

He blinked his eyes halfway open again. "You tol' de bad man if he put me down, he could have de 'pala. Would you really give him dat?"

"I would have, yeah," Dean said, somewhat puzzled by the line of questioning.

"Even dough it's your most favorite fing?"

Dean smiled warmly. "If it was a choice between you and the car, the Impala's always going to come in second, Sammy. Every single time."

Sam smiled sleepily and closed his eyes. He rolled his head into Dean's hand and sighed. "You're my most favorite too, Dee," he mumbled, and then he was out.

* * *

The doctor had been right—the break hadn't taken long to fix, and Sam was cleared to go home that evening. Dean had loaded up on pediatric pain medication and paid close attention to the instructions on how to take care of the cast—even though he was planning on having Cas heal the break as soon as he got back from wherever it was he'd gone with Hannah. Sam had woken briefly after the surgery—though 'woken' was probably a generous term for blinking uncomprehendingly at his cast, half-smiling at Dean and then falling asleep again—and was snuggled against Dean's side in the car as Dean drove carefully home. Grown-up Sam on medication was entertainingly loopy, but little Sam on meds was just sleepy, and Dean cradled him closely to his chest as he carried him inside and tucked him into bed.

"Sorry, little guy," he whispered, rubbing a hand over Sam's head and smiling as Sam shifted in his sleep and stuck the thumb sticking out of the cast into his mouth. "Big you would tell me this wasn't my fault, but big you isn't here right now…though I'm guessing little you doesn't blame me either." He quirked up one corner of his mouth at that. "I do, though. This one was all on me." He ruffled Sam's hair, leaned in to kiss his forehead, then stood with a groan. Bed was looking very inviting, but he was pretty sure there was still shifter gunk underneath his fingernails. "Don't fall out of bed while I'm in the shower," he warned, patting his sleeping brother on the back.

* * *

Sam slept through the night without any nightmares and woke up a lot later than usual—the drugs, no doubt, and if nothing else, Dean was glad his brother could have one night free of bad memories. He didn't complain too much about his arm hurting, and was much less reluctant than his older self to take the pain meds. He was in awe of the Impala Dean drew on his cast, and begged him for more until every inch of the plaster was covered in doodles and drawings.

"Hi, Cassy-ell!" he exclaimed excitedly when Cas returned three days later. He'd been playing on the floor of the library when Cas entered the bunker. "Lookit, lookit!" he crowed, jumping up and holding out his arm proudly. "Look what Dean drawed for me."

"That is a very nice car, Sam," Cas said, inspecting the cast. "But why do you have a cast? What happened to your arm?"

"It broked," Sam said simply. "It hurts sometimes, but Dean gives me medicines and it doesn't. An' he drawed dese pitchers all over it, an' I like dem. Look at dis one. Issa Winchester gun—it has de same name as me! An' dis one is a Ninja Turtle, but I can't see it very good, cause it's on de back. Where did you go?"

Cas blinked. "Oh. I, ah, went to help my friend with something. Is Dean here?"

"He's in de kitchen. Come on!" Sam said, grabbing his hand. "We can go help him make lunch! Dean!" he called, dragging Cas behind him. "Cassy-ell is home!"

Dean came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. "Cas! Hey, welcome back, man."

"Thank you," Cas replied. "What happened while I was away?" he asked, looking down at Sam.

"Dean," Sam interrupted, tugging on his sleeve. "Is de food ready?"

"Yeah, buddy, why don't you go wash your hands? Don't get your cast wet!" he reminded him as Sam rushed off to the bathroom. He sighed. "It's a long story, man. I'll tell you the whole thing later. Is there anything you can do about his arm? I know you're on a limited amount of grace, but…"

"Of course," Cas nodded. "A broken bone is a simple injury—even more so given the current size of his arm. Healing it would not require any amount of grace to be concerned about."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean smiled. "Little guy's taking it well, but I hate having him hurt like this."

"Of course," Cas agreed. "Additionally, returning to his proper size might prove problematic with a cast that size on his arm. It would no doubt be painful."

"Oh, yeah, I hadn't even thought of that yet," Dean realized. The antidote was taking its sweet time setting, but the three weeks that were left were still less than the six required to heal the bone.

"What didn' you fink of, Dean?" asked Sam, shooting back into the room.

"Hmm? Oh, never mind. But, hey, guess what?"

"What?"

"Remember Castiel's special angel powers?"

"Yeah."

"You want to see him use them to fix your arm?"

Sam gasped. "Really?" He turned to Castiel. "It's kinda fixed already," he gestured with the cast. "But you can fix it all de way so it won' hurt no more?"

"I can," Cas replied.

Sam frowned suspiciously. "Do you hafta give me a shot like at de hospital?"

Cas smiled. "No injections are required. I merely need to do this."

He reached out and touched two fingers to Sam's forehead. Sam shivered and giggled and shook his casted arm vigorously. "Dat feels funny!" he exclaimed. His eyes went wide and he shook his arm again. "But it doesn' hurt anymore! Dean!" He spun around, holding the arm up to Dean. "It's better, look!"

"That's great, Sammy," Dean beamed, smiling down at Sam's delighted face.

"Fanks, Cassy-ell," Sam enthused, spinning back and hugging Cas around the knees. He looked up, blinking earnest little eyes up at the angel. "You're a really good garden angel," he declared.

"You're welcome, Sam," Cas replied, reaching down to pat Sam on the head only a little awkwardly.

Removing the cast was a little harder than Dean had anticipated, particularly on a newly healed, consequently fidgety little brother, but they managed to get it off without damaging Sam. He insisted on keeping the pieces, appalled that throwing away Dean's art work was even an option. He placed them proudly on a shelf in his room, before changing his mind and moving them to the desk in Dean's room where they could be seen from the bed, since that was where he slept anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

_In this chapter, Dean gets sick, Sammy has a nightmare, and Cas is helpful, if unconventionally so._

* * *

"Dean, are you sleeping?" a soft, cautious voice asked from the doorway.

Dean groaned and rolled towards the door—slowly, in deference to his pounding head. Whatever this stupid thing was that he'd caught, it had hit him fast and hard. One minute, he'd been reading to Sam, and the next he was on his knees in the bathroom, puking his guts out. He'd finally managed to fall asleep, alternating between rolling up in every blanket he owned, and tossing them all on the floor. He squinted, letting in the tiniest sliver of light to allow him to see the little head poking through his door. "Sammy? What're you doin' in here, man? You know you're not s'posed to come in right now."

"I know, but Cassy-ell finks you should eat some food. He was going to make you chicken soup, an' I told him dat's _not_ what you make for sick people. You're 'posed to make tomato an' rice soup. I guess maybe angels don' get sick, 'cause he didn' know dat."

Dean squinted suspiciously. "You brought me soup?"

Sam shook his head. "Cassy-ell wouldn' let me carry it, 'cause it's hot an' he fot maybe I would drop it. But he let me carry your water," he added, proudly holding up a glass in both hands and only sloshing a little over the side. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," Dean sighed. He didn't really want to eat, but if Cas was coming with soup, there wasn't much point arguing with the angel. And soup didn't sound _too_ bad.

Sam walked into the room, both hands on the glass, and carefully placed it on Dean's night stand. Cas appeared in the door way behind him with a tray, pausing to turn on the light. "Dean," he said, making his way to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Dean sighed and pushed himself up to a seated position. "I think I've upgraded from feeling like I got hit by a truck to the hangover from hell. So, you know, better."

Sam's eyes narrowed at Dean's use of the word 'hell', then seemed to decide that being sick gave him a pass on language.

"That is good," Cas said. "But I think you should remain in bed for the time being."

"No arguments from me," Dean told him. "Sam said you made me soup?"

"Yes," Cas said, setting the tray down on the bed. "He was insistent that it be tomato and rice. I had thought chicken noodle was customary when one is ill, but…"

"It's a Winchester thing," Dean explained.

"Dat's what Dean always makes for me when I'm sick," Sam added, clambering up onto the bed. "An' Mommy would make it for him. It makes you feel better."

Dean looked down and noticed that along with his bowl and saltine crackers, there was a smaller plastic bowl and a sippy cup on the tray.

"Cassy-ell said I could eat wif you if it was okay," Sam said, following his gaze. "Is it okay?" he asked, blinking sad eyes up at him.

Dean smiled. "Sure. Just stay down on that end of the bed so I don't breathe on you."

Sam grinned and settled down by Dean's feet. Cas handed him the plastic bowl of soup, which he positioned carefully between his crossed legs. Dean placed the sippy cup down on the blanket and rolled it towards Sam, then picked up his own bowl. "Thanks, Cas."

Cas nodded and smiled. "Of course. I will go clean up in the kitchen and be back for your dishes."

"Careful with the soup, Sammy," Dean warned, as Sam lifted a spoon to his mouth.

"Don' worry—I won' spill on your bed, Dean," Sam promised.

True to his word, he didn't lose a drop. It was the neatest he'd ever seen his little brother eat—although the concentration involved in the task kept him from making too much conversation.

"Dean?" Sam asked when they were done and Cas was gathering up the dishes. "Can I still sleep in here wif you tonight?"

"Don't think so, buddy."

"But why? You always stay wif me when I'm sick. I want to stay wif you," Sam pouted.

Dean smiled. "I know. And I appreciate the thought, kiddo, I really do. But I'm worried you'll get sick if you stay in here with me."

"But you don't get sick when you stay wif me," Sam pressed.

"Yeah…" Dean considered. "But see, when you're sick, you have little kid germs. Those aren't gonna make me sick. But I've got grown-up germs, and those are stronger, so they can still make you sick."

Sam considered this, but couldn't seem to find a hole in the logic. He frowned. "Alright," he sighed. "But if you need anyfing, you can come in my room an' get me, okay?" he added seriously, placing a little hand on Dean's arm.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean smiled, reaching out and ruffling his hair. "But I think it's about your bedtime. Why don't you go and brush your teeth, and then Cas will be in to put you to bed." He smirked as Sam slid off the edge of the bed with a skeptical look on his face. "Don't worry, I'll tell him how to do it."

"Okay," Sam agreed. "G'night, Dean. I hope you feel better in de morning."

"'night, Sammy." Sam left the room, and Cas turned to Dean with a concerned look on his face.

"Is there some sort of routine involved in putting him to bed?"

Dean laughed. "Nothing hard, man. He'll take care of his PJ's and his teeth himself. Just make sure he's in the middle of the bed so he doesn't roll off—he moves a lot—and read him a story. He'll probably fall asleep before the story's over."

"That doesn't seem too difficult," Cas said thoughtfully.

"Nah, he's an easy kid," Dean agreed, shifting back down into the bed. "Hey, thanks for taking care of him while I'm down, and thanks for the soup. It went down better than I thought—I should be back at it tomorrow."

"Good," Cas said. "But rest as long as you need. Sam and I can manage one another until then."

"Hope so," Dean smirked. "Oh, hey," he added. Cas paused at the door. "Those nightmares or memories or whatever are still hitting him pretty hard. Would you mind staying in there after he falls asleep? Cause he'll wake up freaking out, and if there's no one there…"

"Say no more," Cas said assured him, holding up a hand. "I shall watch over him. It is, after all, the job of a 'garden angel', is it not?" He smiled and left, turning out the light as he did so, leaving Dean to rest and recover.

* * *

As Dean had predicted, putting Sam to bed was a simple enough task. Indeed, by the time Castiel arrived in Sam's room, the little boy was already perched in the middle of the bed, busy with drawing the covers up around himself. His story book of choice waited at his feet. Castiel settled awkwardly on the edge of the mattress, uncertain as to what sort of proximity was appropriate in this case. At Sam's expectant look, he moved closer, until he was near enough for the child to rest against his side. A memory stirred in his mind of Jimmy Novak sitting in this manner with a young Claire. On a hunch, he slid one arm around Sam's small shoulders, holding the book with both hands and drawing Sam in closer to him. When Sam didn't object, merely snuggled deeper into the pillow and moved his gaze from Castiel to the book, he surmised the move had been the correct one.

The story was another one of his thrift store finds—a tattered book missing the back cover that told the tale of a dog named Scupper who seemed to be employed as a sailor. The premise struck him as somewhat odd, but Sam seemed to be enjoying the story, and the illustrations did create a feeling of warmth and coziness in their portrayal of the home the dog had made for himself onboard the ship. Sam fell asleep as they reached the end, humming softly to himself what Castiel assumed to be the song written out on the last page. Once again, he thought back to Jimmy Novak's memories for the best way to extricate his arm from behind Sam without waking the boy up and rendering the entire exercise moot.

Fortunately, he was successful. He stood carefully, slowly changing the weight on the mattress. Sam slept on. He switched off the overhead light, leaving the lamp on the table on. He knew that small children were often frightened of the dark, and while Sam may have slept relatively peacefully when he shared a bed with Dean, Castiel was uncertain what new fears might find him when he slept alone. He moved into a chair next to the lamp, and after a moment, picked up one of the books on demon lore from Sam's desk. He had obviously been engaged in research on removing the Mark of Cain, despite Dean's insistence of the futility of such efforts. Privately, Castiel agreed with Sam—there was always hope, and since the curse currently left him unable to continue his investigations, Castiel was the logical choice to continue it. He opened the book and began to read.

Some hours later, Castiel looked up from the book at the sound of a small moan from Sam. Setting the book aside, he moved closer to the bed.

"No, no, stop it!" Sam begged, beginning to writhe in the sheets. "No! Dean!" He began struggling in earnest now, kicking and wriggling, and yet remaining in place. "DEEAANN!" he screamed. Castiel's hand hovered uncertainly over Sam's shoulder, unsure of what he should do. Dean had told him to watch over Sam in case of nightmares, but had not mentioned what should be done about them.

Sam stopped struggling and began to sob, tears pouring from beneath his unopened eyelids. Castiel reached out and shook him awake, deciding that removing him from whatever terror he was facing was the best course of action.

Sam shot bolt upright, continuing to sob. "Dee?" he whispered, eyes darting frantically around the room. "Dee!"

"It's alright, Sam," Castiel said calmly. "It was merely a bad dream. It's okay."

Sam's teary little eyes turned to meet his. "Cass—" He hiccupped. "Cassy-ell? Where's Dean?"

"He is in his room," Castiel told him.

"But, but where is he?" Sam persisted, eyes searching the room again. "I, I don'—where's Dee?" he whispered. Tears pooled in his eyes again.

"He is in his room," Castiel repeated, placing what he hoped was a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. "He is not feeling well, remember? He is sleeping in his own room so as not to make you ill."

"But he's gone," Sam moaned, large tears dripping off his cheeks. "I was stuck an' I couldn' get him an' he got all..." He wailed and fell forward into Castiel's chest, grabbing on to the lapels of his jacket. "He got all tore up," Sam whispered into Castiel's shirt. "An' he's hurt an' he's gone, Cassy-ell, he's gone!" Sam howled, weeping bitterly into his shirt.

"Dean is fine, Sam," Castiel tried to assure him. He patted him on the back, searching his mind for what memory Sam could be referring to and coming up empty. "It was merely a bad dream. Dean is just in his room, asleep."

Sam continued to cry, and Castiel continued to pat him on the back. At one point, he even tried rocking back and forth, but nothing seemed to comfort the child. Castiel could feel Sam's tears soaking through his shirt and jacket and was overwhelmed by a feeling of helplessness. Surely there must be something he could do to calm him…

A thought occurred to him. It was perhaps not the course of action Dean would have chosen, but then, Dean had a way with Sam that the angel obviously did not. Gingerly, he pulled the weeping child away from his chest. "It is alright, Sam," he soothed, brushing Sam's hair back out of his face. "I promise." He reached out a hand and touched two fingers gently to Sam's forehead. His cries stopped immediately as his eyes rolled back in his head and fluttered closed, his head lolling against Castiel's hand.

Castiel carefully lowered him back to the pillow. Sam didn't stir, and he untangled the sheets and pulled them back up around the boy. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said softly, running a hand over the soft hair. "I don't think I'm very good at this. But at least you should have no more bad dreams tonight."

He settled back into his chair. He returned half his attention to the book, while keeping the other half on the sleeping child next to him. And though he looked up watchfully every time Sam shifted in his sleep, the little boy slept the remainder of the night peacefully.

* * *

The next morning, Dean woke up feeling much better—thankfully that nasty little bug had been a twenty-four hour kind. At first he was worried when he woke without a little brother snuggled against his side or sprawled across the bed like a starfish, before remembering that Sam had spent the night in his own room. Wonder how that turned out?

Sam wasn't in his room, or playing in the library, where he usually was if he woke up before Dean. He found his little brother in the kitchen, quietly eating cereal with Cas. "Dean!" Sam exclaimed, abandoning his cereal and jumping up. He rushed towards Dean and paused. "Are you better?" he asked.

Dean smiled. "All good, Sammy." Sam beamed and ran the rest of the way, jumping up and trusting Dean to catch him in a hug. "There any cereal left for me?"

Sam giggled. "Dere's a whole box, silly. Even _you_ can't eat dat many cereals."

"Oh, I bet I could." Dean smirked at Sam's unbelieving face. "But how about just one bowl for now?"

"How are you, Dean?" Cas asked as Sam slithered to the ground and went to fetch Dean a bowl.

"I'm good, man," Dean assured him. "Thanks for keeping an eye on Sam. Everything go okay last night?"

"I believe so," Cas replied. "He did have a nightmare…"

"Usually does," Dean agreed. "What about?"

"I am not sure," Cas admitted. "He was quite upset, but not particularly descriptive."

"He is three," Dean reminded him with a smirk.

"Yes," Cas agreed. "But I believe it was a memory that I was not originally present for."

"Hmm," Dean mused as Sam returned with the bowl. He shrugged. "He seems alright right now, so, I guess whatever it was, he moved on. Thanks, Sammy."

"You're welcome," Sam said. "You want me to pour your cereals?"

"Well, I'd prefer my cereal in my bowl, not on the table, so I think I'll pour." He winked and Sam giggled. "Get back up here and finish yours, buddy. Then maybe we'll go out and do something today."

Sam's face lit up. "Okay!"

* * *

'Going out and doing something today' ended up involving running by the mechanic's to pick up a part, a quick trip to the grocery store and a run by the library to drop off Sam's x-ray book, and lunch at the deli where that cute little Irish girl worked. Sam babbled from atop Dean's shoulders the entire time, telling her everything he remembered from the book and earning himself a free plate of tater tots in sympathy for his (now healed) arm that 'de bad man broked'.

After lunch, they took a walk through down town to look at the decorations going up for some sort of festival. Sam particularly enjoyed listening to the band that was warming up, but there was only so much folk music Dean could take before deciding they needed to keep walking. Returning to the car on the other side of the street, Dean paused outside of a pet store. When they'd been kids, one of the tricks Dean used to cheer up a sad little brother had been finding a local pet store and letting Sam play with the puppies and rabbits and whatever. Sam was in a perfectly fine mood today, but Dean figured he'd enjoy it all the same.

"Hey, Sammy," he said, drawing his little brother's attention away from what was apparently a fascinating rock in a planter. "You want to stop in here, take a look around?"

Sam's eyes widened at the display of colorful fish and birds in the window. "Yeah!" he enthused. Dean grinned, grabbed his hand and led him inside.

Today seemed to be a full day for the store, and Sam seemed torn between wanting to keep a firm grip on Dean's pant leg and wanting to wander away to look at the animals. He finally compromised by bunching his fist in Dean's jeans and tugging him along with him.

He gawped at the fish for a while, his little eyes darting around the tanks and following the little flashes of color. He was awed and terrified of the snakes at the same time, pushing Dean right up against the glass of the cages and hiding behind his leg to study the reptiles. While he was watching a little hamster run around on a wheel, Dean stepped over to the side and scooped a puppy out of the pen at one side of the room. "Hey, Sammy, wanna play with this little guy?" he asked, holding out the wriggling black lab.

Sam turned, and to Dean's surprise, the smile on his face was chased away by a look of absolute horror. "No!" he shrieked, his eyes suddenly filled with tears. "No, Dean, put it down!"

Dean's face wrinkled in confusion. "What? Sammy—"

"Put it _down_!" Sam yelled, running up and slapping Dean's leg. "I don' want it, Dean, don' touch it, put it down!" The tears in his eyes spilled out and down his cheeks and he kept slapping at Dean's leg urgently as he spoke.

"Okay, okay," Dean said, quickly, lowering the puppy back down into the pen. He scooped up Sam, gave what was hopefully a reassuring smile to the concerned customers looking their way, and moved away from the dog pen. "It's gone, Sammy. It's okay, I put it down. It's okay."

Sam flung his little arms around Dean's neck. "You hafta be careful, Dee," he sniffed. "Don'…you shouldn'…don' do dat anymore."

"Pick up a puppy?" Dean asked, confused. Sam nodded seriously. "Okay," Dean promised, wiping the tears from Sam's cheeks. "No more puppies. You wanna get out of here?"

"Maybe," Sam said.

"Alright," Dean said, patting him on the back. He started working his way toward the front of the store. He nodded back at the dog pen when a girl in an apron with the store's logo raised an eyebrow at him. "Dogs scared him," he explained, and she nodded and moved away. Near the front, Dean paused near a similar pen that held a bunch of kittens. He was puzzled by Sam's sudden fear of dogs—grown up or miniature, usually the kid couldn't get enough of them—but decided if this was a new thing, he should know how far it went. "What about cats, Sammy?" he asked, making sure to hold him well out of reach of the cats in case they were scary now too. "Are those okay?"

Sam looked down at the kittens playing in the straw. He sniffed. "Dey're okay."

Alright, then. "You wanna play with one of these guys, or should we keep heading out of here?"

Sam considered. "I wanna pet one," he decided.

"Okay." Dean set him down in front of the pen, making sure he could feel Dean's legs behind him so he'd know he was there, in case he was still a little spooked. "Which one?"

Sam studied the little cats and pointed to one in the corner. "De orange one."

Dean reached in and carefully picked up the kitten, who meowed curiously at him. "Alright, be gentle," he warned as he lowered the cat down to Sam. "Remember, the claws are sharp."

"I'll be careful," Sam promised, reaching up with both hands. He clasped the kitten gently, like it was made of glass, and after a moment, sat down and set it in his lap. He stroked the fur on its head and it let out a soft mew, then stretched up and licked his nose. He giggled. "Hi, Kitty," he greeted it.

Dean smiled as Sam's smile returned. He watched as Sam petted the kitten, and his grin widened when it clambered up Sam's shirt to perch on his shoulder, then tumbled off into his lap and Sam laughed. He reached out a hand and the cat sniffed it, licked it, then returned its attention to Sam. Sam grinned. "He likes you too, Dean."

Dean smiled and rubbed a hand over Sam's head. "What do you think about maybe taking him home with us?" he offered on impulse.

Sam looked up at Dean, then back at the cat. "I don' fink so," he said, after a long moment. He patted the kitten's head. "Our cave is really big, an' he'd get lost."

Dean blinked. "Our…Sammy, we don't live in a cave."

"I know it's called de Bunker," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "But it's unner-ground. Dat means issa cave," he explained. "An' de kitty might get lost dere, and dere's no sunshine inside, and I fink dat would make him sad." He stood, hugged the kitten gently, and handed it back to Dean. "We can come visit him here sometimes, dough, right?" he asked as Dean lowered it back into the pen.

"Sure, buddy," Dean promised. "We can do that."

"Okay. Bye, Kitty." Sam waved at the cat, then turned and stretched up his arms for Dean to pick him up.

Dean scooped him up and they made their way out of the store. Outside, Sam showed no signs of wanting to get down, so Dean hitched him higher on his hip and kept walking. "Hey, Sammy?"

"Uh huh?"

"What was that back in there with the puppy? I thought you liked dogs." He hated to bring up something that clearly bothered his brother after he'd just cheered up, but he wanted to get to the bottom of this—and not inadvertently make it worse later.

Sam sniffed again and shifted in Dean's arms. "Yeah," he said softly. That was it.

"Do you not anymore?" Dean pressed. Sam shook his head. "Did something happen?" he asked carefully.

Sam took a long time in answering. "Cassy-ell's not so good wif bad dreams like you are," he said at last.

Dean blinked at the apparent non-sequitur. "What?"

"I guess it's cause he doesn' sleep," Sam said thoughtfully. "If you don' sleep, you don' have dreams, so you don' know what bad ones are like." Dean gave him an odd look, and Sam hurried on, like he was worried he'd said something rude. "But he's still a good garden angel! He fixed my broked arm, an' he keeps us safe, an' plays Ninja Turtles wif me an' reads bedtime stories really good, an' he makes good samwiches."

"Yeah, yeah, no, Cas is great, Sammy, just…what does that have to do with you being scared of dogs?" Something clicked in his brain. "Did you have a bad dream about a dog last night?"

"Uh huh," Sam said softly, nuzzling his head into Dean's shoulder.

"Okay," Dean nodded, rubbing a hand across Sam's back. That was making more sense, now. Although, if the bad dream was a memory, like normal, he couldn't think of any bad memories Sam may have had involving dogs. "You okay now, or do you wanna talk about it?" he offered.

Sam was quiet another long minute, then he whispered into Dean's jacket, "it was a big dog. It was big an' black wif red eyes, but it was also 'visible, like Cassy-ell's wings. You could only see its breafs in de air, an' you could hear it bark and growl an' it was really mean."

Hellhound. Crap. There was one of three places this could be going, and Dean was pretty sure he knew which one it was.

"An' den dere were lots of dem," Sam continued quietly. "An' dere was a bad lady, an' she stuck me on de wall, an' de dogs…" He sniffed. "De dogs..." he started again, then whimpered and buried his face in Dean's shoulder.

"The dogs hurt me, didn't they?" Dean finished.

Sam nodded. "Really, really bad," he whispered. "So bad dat…" He shook his head. "Dere was a lot of blood," he finished softly.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean soothed, hugging him tighter and kissing the top of his head gently. "It's okay, buddy," he said. They reached the Impala and he stopped walking, leaning back against the car. "I'm right here."

Sam hugged him back. "I know. I just…"

"Hey," Dean said, nudging Sam's face up to look at him. "It's alright, man. You're allowed to be scared. And you're totally allowed to be afraid of dogs, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's not stupid, and I don't think you're a baby or anything like that," Dean assured him, and a tiny smile quirked the corner of Sam's mouth. He usually wasn't worried what Dean thought of his dreams, but maybe his little freak-out in front of strangers had made him feel more self-conscious. "And I won't pick up any more dogs, how about that?"

"Good," Sam said with a vehement nod. "Dey can be mean."

"They can," Dean agreed. "But I'll keep 'em away from you, and you'll keep 'em away from me like you did in that store today. How's that sound?"

"It sounds good."

"Good," Dean echoed, opening the door and depositing Sam inside.

Sam busied himself with the seatbelt while Dean walked around the car. "Fanks, Dean," he said as Dean slid into his seat. He paused. "Can I sleep in your room again tonight? It's not so scary when I'm wif you."

Dean beamed. "Sure thing, Sammy. Sure thing."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This chapter is just a plotless little piece of fluff. The situation in which Dean finds Little Sam is inspired by a true story wherein I was having dinner at my neighbor's house and she found her son doing the same thing._

* * *

Dean looked up from his laptop with the sudden realization that the quiet was actually…quiet. Sam was obviously no longer playing under the library table, but there were no sounds of play or the little monologue Sam usually kept running while he did it coming from either the next room or the hallway.

Pushing to his feet, Dean tilted his head, listening for noise and hearing none. Sam wandering off wasn't in itself overly problematic—he couldn't get out of the Bunker, so if nothing else, his little brother was contained. The place was just so freaking _big_ , though. Little guy could be anywhere. And while Dean was fairly sure the dangerous rooms were locked up, well, Sammy was a curious and clever little guy, and they hadn't figured out all the Bunker's secrets yet.

Drawing in a breath, Dean decided not to freak out just yet, and check the obvious places first. No to the kitchen, no to Dean's room, and no to Sam's room across the hall. The bathroom was the last one on the list, and before he even got there, he knew his hunt was over.

"Nyeeeoow, nyeeeow! Beep beep!" came Sam's voice. "Brrrrooom! Pew, pew! Oops." Dean heard the sound of a toy car clattering to the tile floor. There was a brief silence, then Sam resumed his sound effects.

Dean eased the door open and saw Sam leaning forward in the tub—judging by the sound, he was sliding cars around on the bottom. Dean paused to pick up the lone matchbox car that seemed to have sailed over the edge and sat forlornly in the middle of the room. "Hey, Sammy," he said, stepping forward and holding out the car. Sam looked up and grinned at the sight of his big brother. "What are you—?" He stopped as he approached the tub.

Sam was sitting in the middle of the bathtub, surrounded by every toy car they'd acquired since this miniaturization business, including that pink Barbie convertible. Raphael and Darth Vader were sitting in the soap dish, observing the proceedings, while Laser Dragon the sheep balanced on the faucet. Sam sat happily in the middle of it all, completely naked.

"Hi, Dean!" Sam enthused. "Ooh! You rescued de green car! Fanks!" He reached up and grabbed the car from Dean's hand.

"Sammy, what are you doing?" Dean asked.

"I found a cool new way to play wif my cars! Look at dis!" he exclaimed. He took the newly returned green car and slid it along the bottom of the bathtub. It glided across the tub and halfway up the curve of the back before sliding back down and crashing into Sam's leg. "See how it goes up like dat?" Sam asked. "An' it's really fast! Look!" He grabbed another car and demonstrated again, clearly delighted with the physics of toy cars on porcelain.

"Yeah, no, that's pretty cool, but, uh, why are you naked?" Dean asked.

Sam paused in his game to glance up at Dean with an 'are you stupid?' look. "Because I'm in de bafftub," he replied.

"Oh. That's not…okay, fair enough." He smirked, wishing he hadn't left his phone in the library. The naked toddler sitting in the completely dry bathtub would have been a great picture to use for blackmailing purposes when Sam was big again. "How about you get out of the tub, though, and we go rustle up some lunch?"

Sam considered. "Okay." He stood, picking up the toys one by one to lift them out of the tub and drop them on the floor. He then clambered over the edge of the tub, walked to an empty wastepaper basket Dean recognized as being from the library, and carried it back to his pile of toys. He dropped them all into the basket, answering Dean's question of how those tiny little hands had gotten all those toys down the hall. Setting the basket aside, he turned to a stool next to the tub where his clothes were folded in a little stack neater than Dean would have thought a three year-old could manage. There was a glimpse of the old Sammy and his bordering on OCD tidiness. (Dean could never figure out where the kid had picked up any of his neat-freak tendencies—it was pre-Jess, and no way in hell he'd gotten it from Dean or Dad.)

After dressing, Sam shoved the stool in front of the sink to wash his hands for lunch. Dean smirked as Sam stepped back down. Big Sam's obsession with things being neat and folded? Check. Little Sam's three year-old hand-eye coordination? Also check. "Pants are on backwards, Sammy," he informed his little brother with a grin.


	4. Chapter 4

_This chapter was actually inspired by a comment made on the original story, about wanting to see more of how Dean was missing 'Big Sam'. And now that I have room to expand, I thought that sounded like a good idea. So here we go._

* * *

Sam being Mini-Sam was starting to feel kind of normal. He and Dean had a routine down, and as much as Dean missed Big Sam and was ready to have him back, he really had enjoyed the past three weeks with the little guy. That being said, he also really enjoyed the hour and a half of peace and quiet he got every afternoon when the little guy was taking a nap.

A quick glance at the corner of the computer screen told him Sammy's time was up. Not hearing the sound of little feet in the hallway, he decided to give it a little longer. More than two hours of nap, and bedtime tonight would be a disaster, but he'd give him a few more minutes and see if he woke up on his own. About ten minutes later, he heard the sound of little brother feet approaching the library, and started thinking over what to do for snack (something he enjoyed just as much as Sammy).

"Dean?" Sam asked, padding towards the table.

"Yeah, buddy?" Dean replied, eyes still on the screen as he finished off an email.

"Who is dis?" Sam asked, holding out what looked like a piece of paper.

Dean looked up and raised an eyebrow, inviting Sam to elaborate. Sam clambered into the chair next to Dean with a grunt and laid the paper down on the table. Dean's eyes went wide. "Sammy, where did you get that?" he demanded, a little harsher than he meant to.

Sam blinked, taken off guard by Dean's tone. "Um, from de box in your room."

"You don't go through that, Sam. That's my stuff, and you don't mess with it," Dean snapped, reaching over and pulling the photograph out of Sam's reach. He looked down at it and blinked back sudden, unexpected moisture in his eyes that blurred his view of Sam's bright smile. He was laughing at something Dean had said, and Dean was grinning too, evidently pleased with his own joke. Bobby had taken it after some hunt of theirs—obviously a successful one, though he no longer remembered what it had been for.

He was startled at a sudden pressure in his lap as Sam slid out of his chair and into Dean's. "Dean?" Sam said worriedly. "I'm sorry. I didn' know I wasn' 'posed to open de box. I won' do it again, Dean, please don' cry," he begged.

Dean let the picture fall to the table and pulled Sam forward into a hug. Sam flung his little arms around Dean's neck, eager to offer comfort, even if he didn't know what for. "It's okay, Sammy," Dean told him, rubbing his back. "I shouldn't've snapped at you. I'm sorry."

"S'okay," Sam said seriously. "I didn' mean to make you sad," he whispered.

"It's alright, Sammy," Dean assured him. "You're not what made me upset."

Sam pulled back to look at him, then looked down at the photo. "Does dat pitcher make you sad?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean sighed, running a finger along the edge of it. "Yeah, it does."

"How comes you keep it, den?"

"Well, it doesn't always make me sad," Dean told him. "Sometimes it makes me really happy."

Sam frowned down at the photo, trying to puzzle out how a thing could be happy and sad at the same time. "Who is dat?" he asked at last, pointing down at his older self.

Dean sighed. "That right there, Sammy, is one of the best people in the whole world."

Sam looked back up at him interestedly. "How comes?"

"Well," Dean began, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "He's a hero. He saves people from monsters and dangerous things, even if it means he might get hurt. He's even saved the whole world." Sam's eyebrows went up, his mouth dropping open slightly. "And he saves me all the time."

"Really?" Sam asked in awe.

"There's no way I'd be here today without him," Dean replied. "I'd have died years ago."

Sam gasped.

"He always tries to help people," Dean continued. "He's super-smart, and he's the bravest man I've ever met."

"Braver even dan you?" Sam asked skeptically.

"A hell of a lot braver than me," Dean affirmed. "All kinds of bad things have happened to him, and he's never given up. Not even when I give up. He always tries to do the right thing, and makes sure I do too. He's always got my back, even when he's down, and I could never—" His voice cracked a little and he paused and drew in a breath. "Never make it without him. He's the best friend I've ever had, and I may not have a lot in this world, but as long as I've got him, I'm okay." He sighed and ran a hand across the picture. "That's who that is, Sammy."

Sam studied the picture for a long moment. "I'm glad you have such a nice friend, Dean," he said sincerely. "But why does he make you sad?" he asked. A sudden, concerned look flitted across his face. "Did somefing bad happen to him?"

Dean smiled sadly. "Yeah. He's…ah, well, right now he's…missing."

"An' you're sad 'cause you don' know where to find him?" Sam guessed. He frowned suspiciously. "Does it have somefing to do wif dat witch?"

That surprised a laugh out of Dean. "You're a smart cookie, there, Sammy. It sure does."

Sam smiled at the compliment, then looked at the picture again. "Is dat why you bought dose magic fings from de mean guy at de stinky store?"

"Yep. Me and Cas are working on a spell. It'll undo what the witch did and bring him back."

Sam's face lit up. "Can I help? I want to help save your friend."

Dean smiled. "Don't you worry, kiddo. The spell will take a little longer to get ready, but you will definitely be there when it's time to set it off."

"Good," Sam said with a nod. "Someone who helps so many people should have somebody to help him too."

"Yeah, he sure should," Dean agreed quietly.

"And den I can meet him and we can be friends too!" Sam declared. "Do you fink he will like me?"

Dean chuckled. "He'll like you just fine, Sammy. You two are an awful lot alike."

"What's your friend's name?"

Dean shook his head. "Well, believe it or not, his name's Sam."

Sam gasped delightedly. "Dat's de same as me!"

Dean grinned. "Well, maybe that's why I like him so much."

Sam placed a little hand firmly over one of Dean's. "Don' worry, Dee," he said seriously. "We will get him back."

"You bet your Ninja Turtle we will," Dean agreed. He scooped Sam up and kissed him on the side of the head, suddenly feeling better about his chances of fixing this, even though he wasn't sure why.

He picked up the photograph and headed down the hall to put it away, Sam perched on one hip. Something else occurred to him as he thought of the box. "Sammy, did you take anything else out of the box?"

Sam shook his head. "No. I was just looking. I saw some uvver pitchers of your friend Sam, an' some wif Uncle Bobby too. Dere was some wif Daddy an' one wif you when you was little wif a little baby who I fink is me."

"So you just saw the pictures?" Dean asked, thinking of the more dangerous contents of the box.

"Well, under dem was a old book wif writing in it, an' two knifes an' a gun wif pretty stuff drawed all on it, but I didn' touch dem because I'm not 'posed to touch guns an' knifes even dough I really wanted to look at dem," Sam clarified, running out of breath at the end.

"Good boy," Dean sighed with relief, thinking of how badly _that_ could have gone, even if the Colt wasn't loaded. "Those can be really dangerous, so you did good not to touch them."

"Can I look at de pretty gun after we put de pitcher back?" Sam asked. "You can hold it, an' I will just look," he promised.

Dean chuckled. "I think we can do that."

Sam beamed, sliding down from Dean's hip to the floor when they reached the room. True to his word, nothing else had been removed from the box, which Dean planned to move to a higher shelf after showing Sam the 'pretty gun'.

"Oh, yeah," Sam said, moving under the desk to grab something. "I did also take dis out, 'cause it was on top an' it was in de way," he explained. "But, Dean…" He paused, looking embarrassed. "I don' fink dis lady has any clothes on behind dat umbrella," he whispered, holding up the magazine.

Dean's face ran through several shades of red in rapid succession, and he snatched the October 2012 _Busty Asian Beauties_ —really, just a great issue—out of his little brother's hand. "You know, I think you're right, Sammy," he said quickly, reaching up and placing it on top of the bookshelf. "We'll just put that up there where no one has to worry about seeing it."

Sam, still looking embarrassed for the woman on the cover, seemed pleased with the decision.

"Great," Dean said. "Now, let's look at that pretty gun, huh?"


	5. Chapter 5

_My first ever chapter done as a request-so exciting! So here, for_ mckydstarlight, _Little Sam meets Charlie._

 _(Got more requests for chapters for this story? Let me know and I will write them!)_

* * *

Dean stuck his head out of the library at the sound of the front door clanging. "Cas?" he called tentatively. The angel wasn't due back for another few days—another run off with Hannah to do…whatever it was they did when they went places.

"Guess again!" rang a cheerful woman's voice. Charlie appeared at the top of the stairs with a grin that quickly fell into a pout. "Wait, does that mean I've missed your angel buddy again? Darn it! One of these days, I'm going to catch him," she said, pointing a finger down at Dean.

"Hey, Charlie," Dean greeted her with a smile. "Looking good, kiddo," he said, pleased to see that the damage he'd inflicted on her via Dark Charlie seemed to be gone.

Charlie smiled warmly, guessing what was on his mind. "All better," she assured him. "Well, almost," she added, descending the stairs. She shook down her sleeve to reveal a brace on her wrist. "Sling's off, but, well, I type more than the doc at my last checkup would like me to." She grimaced sheepishly. "Doesn't hurt anymore," she hastened to add. "Just not quite back to nerd fighting form yet. C'mere," she said, throwing her arms around him. "It's good to see you," she said softly.

"You too," Dean replied, hugging her tightly. He pulled back. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but aren't you supposed to be in Italy or something?" He stilled, then grabbed her shoulders. "Wait. Did you find it?"

Charlie smiled sadly and shook her head, and a little burst of hope died as quickly as it came. "No," she said. "I've got a solid lead, though. It's a really good one, but I've got to go to Spain, and for whatever reason, turns out it's cheaper to fly home and then back out again, instead of going straight there."

"Huh." Well, a lead from Charlie was better than a lead from most other people.

"I know. So, I figured, may as well hit home base, get some clean clothes, check up on my boys." She finished with a smile and punched Dean lightly in the arm. "You guys doing alright? Where's the big guy?"

Dean chuckled and shook his head. "Mmm. You know, funny you should phrase it that way..." he trailed off.

"What?" Charlie asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"So, we're good," Dean started. "All things considered, we're doing pretty great."

"And the things to consider?" Charlie prompted.

"A couple weeks ago, we took what looked like a pretty open and shut case against a witch. Sam took a hit, and…There's an antidote, it's just taking a while to get ready."

"Uh huh," Charlie nodded. "You realize there wasn't actually any useful information in that, right? What happened to Sam?"

"Well, he's…um…"

"Dean?" an uncertain little voice asked from behind him. They both turned to see a sleepy-eyed toddler hovering hesitantly in the doorway, hair still mussed from his nap.

"He's over there," Dean finished, pointing at the little boy.

Charlie let out a surprised squeak, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth and her eyes going wide.

"Hey, Sammy, come on in. It's okay." Dean beckoned him forward, and Sam came into the room and wrapped his little arms around Dean's leg. Dean reached down and picked him up and he shifted into Dean, leaning away from Charlie and sticking his thumb in his mouth. "This is my friend Charlie," Dean told him.

Sam looked at Dean and then back at Charlie, tension easing in his little shoulders. A friend of Dean's was no one to worry about. "Hi," he said at last, taking his thumb out of his mouth. "I'm Sammy."

"H—hi, Sammy," Charlie said. "Nice to meet you."

"Are you a angel too?" Sam asked.

"What?"

"Are you a angel like Cassy-ell?"

"Oh. Um, no, I'm just a regular person," Charlie said.

"Okay. Me too," Sam replied. "How comes your name is Charlie? Isn' dat a boy's name?"

"Sammy!" Dean chastised, but Charlie laughed.

"It's okay," she said. "It's short for Charlotte."

"Oh." Sam pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I like Charlie better."

"Me too," she said with a smile.

"Hey, Sammy, why don't you head into the kitchen and pick out something for snack?" Dean asked. "And then me and Charlie will come join you."

Sam's eyes widened. "I can pick out de snack all by myself?" he asked eagerly.

"Go for it," Dean said, lowering him to the ground.

"I'll get a really good one!" Sam promised, and was off like a shot.

"Oh," Charlie sighed as he ran off, placing a hand over her heart. "Until this moment, I had no idea I even _had_ a biological clock. He is frickin' adorable!"

"I know, right?" Dean agreed. "You should see it when we go into town. Kid's a total chick magnet."

"Uh, yeah," Charlie said. "Don't suppose you'd let me borrow him for a few hours?"

"You're not taking my little brother to a bar."

"Yeah, didn't think so," she said with a fake pout. "So, the witch shrunk him, and he also, like, age-reversed in his head or something?"

"Yep."

"Wow. I didn't know that was even a thing. I mean, witches, yeah, but that's like a sci-fi cliché right there. How old is he now, anyway?"

"He's three."

"Really?" Charlie raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I mean, I don't really know from kids or anything, but he's really little."

"Yeah, he hit a growth spurt around fifteen and then just kept going, but until then, Sammy was always kind of a shrimp." Dean shrugged. "Me and Dad had no idea he was gonna grow up to be such a Sasquatch."

"So, he doesn't remember…"

"Anything," Dean finished. "As far as he's concerned, he's always been this age, Dad's off on a trip, and his big brother takes care of him now."

"Wait, if, he's three," Charlie said. "Shouldn't he think you're, like, seven? How'd it work out with you being an adult?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "He did freak out at first. Like, right after the curse, he had no idea who I was. He bit me pretty good when I grabbed him."

Charlie snorted and Dean ignored it.

"I don't know, though, when he calmed down a little and actually _looked_ at me, he recognized me somehow."

"Aaw," Charlie sighed.

"Shut up, fangirl," Dean grumbled.

* * *

Once she got over the initial shock of Mini-Sam, Charlie turned out to be a big hit with the little guy. She offered—a little reluctantly at first—to play with him while Dean put dinner together. Eager to show off his toys, Sam instructed her to sit on the floor in the library and ran to pull the box with the smiling orange from behind one of the chairs.

"Dese are my toys dat Cassy-ell got for me," he explained. "Dis one is my favorite," he added, holding up his Ninja Turtle proudly.

"Dude, is that a vintage Raphael?" Charlie asked, her eyebrows going up. She reached for it, then paused. "Can I see it?"

"Okay," Sam said, holding the toy out.

"Dude," she breathed, looking over the turtle. "This thing is a classic! It's kind of beat up, but I think it's older than I am. Sweet!"

Sam wrinkled his nose in confusion, studying the toy in her hand. He reached over and pulled it back, then licked it thoughtfully. "I don' fink it is," he declared.

Charlie laughed. "No, when you say 'sweet' like that, that means it's cool."

"Oh. So, you know about de Ninja Turtles?"

"Oh, yeah," she assured him.

"I had to teach Cassy-ell about dem," Sam explained.

"Yeah, well, I watched these guys when I was little," she told him. "My favorite was always Donatello, 'cause he invented awesome stuff."

"I like Myka-langalo, 'cause he's funny and eats lossa pizza."

"Yeah, the pizza's pretty awesome," she agreed. "You got any Foot Clan guys in here for him to fight?" she asked, pointing at the box.

"No," Sam said, tugging the box closer. "But sometimes he fights Darf Vader, 'cause he's a bad guy. An' sometimes he fights dis Reindeer Man too, 'cause Dean says he's also a bad guy, but I don't know from what."

Charlie held back a snort as Sam showed her the 'Reindeer Man'. "Well, I can tell you who that is. His name is Loki. He's a super-powerful space alien who keeps trying to take over the world." She went on into a description of Loki's origin story as well as those of the other action figures in his box while he listened with rapt attention. When Dean came out a little while later, he found them strategically moving toys around the library in some sort of attack formation on one of the display cases.

"Dean!" Sam said happily. "Look! Darf Vader an' Loki an' Elliot has captured Capin Kirk, an' dis is our army to save him! You wanna play?"

"Well, it's dinner time right now," Dean said with a smile. "But maybe after supper."

Sam beamed. "You mean I don' hafta pick up my toys before supper?"

"We'll come back and play after supper, and _then_ you can put 'em up," Dean told him. Sam grinned and got to his feet. "And what's up with Elliot working with the bad guys? I thought he was a nice dinosaur."

"He is sometimes," Sam explained. "But dey paid him to work for dem by taking him in deir spaceship so de asteroid wouln' kill him. So he's bad for today."

"Right. Well, go wash up," he told him, and Sam raced out of the room. "The asteroid?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Charlie shrugged. "Bad guys look more awesome riding on dinosaurs."

"He must really like you," Dean said, casting an eye over the pitched battle on the floor. "If he's letting you play with Raphael."

"That unusual?"

"Are you kidding?" Dean laughed. "That thing is his favorite. I mean, I'm usually Batman, but he hardly lets _me_ play with Raphael. And Cas usually ends up being Laser Dragon."

"Who?"

"That sheep over there." Dean pointed to a plastic sheep that appeared to be leading an army of G.I. Joes balanced on Matchbox cars.

"Oh." Charlie considered. "It seemed oddly important to him that the sheep be the general of the army. Killer name, by the way."

"Yeah, the sheep's important for some reason. I mean, it's no Raphael, but he really likes that one. Anyway." Dean shrugged. "Burgers?"

"Oh," Charlie groaned happily, following him to the kitchen. "Dean Winchester, you know how to treat a girl right."

* * *

They finished the battle after dinner, and Charlie endeared herself to Sam further by offering to help him pick up the toys. After bath time, Dean bundled him off to bed, sitting with him until he fell asleep before returning to have a drink with Charlie. She updated him on her quest, he told her more about the witch and the counter-curse, and she even managed to get him to open up a little about Cain and what was going on with the Mark. She was good—nobody but Sam had been able to get any of that out of him, and her sympathy, like his brother's, was genuine and free of pity.

They moved on to lighter things for a little while before breaking up to go to bed. Dean smiled when he got back to his room to find Sam had rotated himself ninety degrees and stretched across the middle of the mattress, taking up far more space than someone that size should be physically capable of doing.

He lifted and turned him, tucking him back in on 'his' side of the bed before changing and slipping under the covers himself. "Goodnight, you little octopus," he whispered, as Sam rolled back into him and twined his arms and legs around Dean's torso.

Dean woke up again very abruptly when Sam kicked him sharply in the gut. "Oof," he coughed, reaching over to turn on the lamp. Sure enough, Sam was writhing and whimpering, tangling himself up in the sheets as he fought whatever his memories were throwing at him tonight. "Sammy? Wake up, buddy."

"No, no, no, aaaaaah!" Sam screamed, flailing his little arms around.

Dean dodged a fist to the face and sat up, putting his hands firmly on Sam's little shoulders. "Come on, Sammy, wake up. It's okay," he said gently.

Sam came awake with a gasp, panting hard as his eyes searched the room wildly. "Dee!" he cried, his eyes landing on Dean as he flung himself into his brother's lap.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, buddy, it's okay," Dean soothed, wrapping his arms around his little brother. "You have another bad dream?" Sam nodded into his chest. "Well, I've got you now. Nothing's gonna get ya," he assured him. "You wanna tell me about it?"

"Dere was a witch in de Bunker," he whispered. "She was mean an' scary, an' she could _foop_!" He made an exploding gesture with his hands. "Into de air an' den you wouldn' know where she was. An' she hurted you an' she hurted me an' she did a bad fing to us an' it was all green an' angry an' it made us do bad fings." Not a bad description of being possessed by the witch, Dean decided.

"Charlie was here too," Sam continued. He sniffed. "De witch killed her, an' you were trying to help her an' den I came an' den it was all white an' on fire an' I wasn' dere any more, an' Dean, I don' know what happened!" he wailed, burying his face in Dean's shirt and starting to cry.

Dean swallowed down a lump of guilt at Sam's description of Gadreel taking over—even if something good had come of it _that_ time. "It's okay, Sammy, it's okay," he soothed. "There's no witches in here, I promise. Charlie's fine, and I'm fine and you're fine. Nobody's green and angry or white and on fire, and you're still here. You're here, and I'm here, and I'm not gonna let anything change that."

Sam sniffed and looked up at him. "How comes I always has dese bad dreams?" he asked miserably. "I don' like dem."

Dean smiled sadly and kissed him gently on top of the head. "I don't know, kiddo. It doesn't seem fair. If I knew how to take them away, I would. I won't let anything get you, though. I can promise you that."

Sam smiled and wiped at his eyes. "You always keep me safe." He sniffed again. "Can we go make sure Charlie's okay?"

Dean considered. "Okay, but be quiet in case she's sleeping." Sam nodded and he lifted him from the bed and they padded softly down the hallway.

Dean eased Charlie's door open, peeking in first and letting out a breath of relief that she didn't sleep naked. "See?" he whispered, leaning in so Sam could see her. Sam watched her for a long minute before nodding his satisfaction.

"She snores," Sam whispered as they made their way back down the hall.

"So do you, sometimes," Dean informed him, and he giggled.

Back in bed, Sam wiped the last of the moisture from his eyes and snuggled tightly into Dean's side. He sniffed again and wiped his nose on the sleeve of Dean's t-shirt.

"Gross, man," Dean groaned.

Sam smiled briefly before his face grew serious. "Dere's really no witches here?"

"No witches," Dean promised. "And if any get in, I'll take 'em out before you can blink."

Sam smiled sleepily and shifted against Dean until he was more comfortable. "Night, Dee," he whispered.

"G'night, snot-face," Dean replied with a smile and turned off the light.

* * *

Dean woke up with a smile to the scent of frying bacon. "Awesome," he murmured, stretching sleepily. His grin faded when his outstretched arm did not hit his little brother. No Sammy and something cooking in the kitchen—"Crap!" He shot up out of bed and raced down the hall to the kitchen praying frantically that Sam hadn't burned himself, or set anything on fire, and wondering how he even turned the stove on in the first place.

He skidded to a halt right outside the kitchen when he heard a woman's voice singing. Right. Charlie was here. He stopped to catch his breath before going in, feeling stupid and really glad the sound of Charlie and Sam singing had covered the noise of his approach.

"Makin' pancakes, makin' bacon pancakes," sang Charlie.

"Take a bacon an' you put it inna pancake!" chimed Sam.

"Bacon pancakes, that's what it's gonna take," Charlie continued.

"Bacon pan-caaaaakes!" they finished together.

"Nice, little dude," Charlie said, and Dean stuck his head around the corner in time to see her fist-bump Sam as a grin split his pancake batter-covered face.

"What're you guys up to?" Dean asked, sauntering into the kitchen.

"Dean!" Sam enthused, spinning on the stool he was standing on. A look of panic shot across Charlie's face and she dropped her spatula into the pancake batter to grab Sam as the stool wobbled dangerously. Sam paid the near mishap no mind. "We makin' pancakes! Better ones dan wif Cassy-ell," he hastened to add. "Charlie knows how to make dem nice. See?" He pointed up. "Dere's no ones on de ceiling dis time."

"Awesome," Dean said. "Do I smell bacon?"

"Yeah! Dere's bacons too!" Sam informed him proudly, twisting in Charlie's arms to point back at the stove. "Dere's some in de oven, an' we put some inside de pancakes."

"So I heard," Dean said with a smile. "Sounds like there was a song."

"Charlie teached me," Sam said.

"It's from a show," Charlie said with a grin and a shrug, depositing Sam carefully back on his stool.

"Well, it smells awesome," Dean said. "You guys finish up and I'll set the table." He went to lay out plates and silverware and Charlie and Sam began another round of the bacon pancake song as they finished with the meal. Dean shook his head. It was annoyingly catchy, and he could already tell it was going to be in his head the rest of the day.

The bacon pancakes were, in fact, awesome. "We're definitely making these again," Dean declared, patting his stomach happily. "What do you think, kiddo?" he asked, looking sideways at Sam licking the syrup off his plate.

"Yep," Sam agreed with a final lick. There was syrup on his nose. "We should put chocklit chips in wif de bacons next time too!"

"Oh, I should have thought of that," Charlie said.

"And marshmellows!" Sam added.

"Chocolate, absolutely. Marshmallows, no," Dean said. "Seriously, Charlie, that was great. Since you put it all together, I'll clean everything up after I wash the munchkin off."

"Am I de munchkin?" Sam asked. Dean nodded. "But I had a baff last night!" Sam pouted.

"Yeah, and this morning you've got enough pancake batter on you to make five more pancakes. I'm not letting you run around the Bunker like that," Dean replied. Sam stuck out his lower lip. "You've also got syrup in your hair," Dean added. Sam immediately reached a hand up to his head to check and pulled it away trailing sticky, golden strings.

"Sorry," Charlie said. "I have no idea how he got that messy. It just kind of happened."

"It's a gift," Dean explained. Sam was distracted by his syrupy hair, trying to pull the sticky strands by his ear over far enough to lick the syrup off. Dean shook his head. "He's a magnet for any kind of sauce or semi-solid food. He was like this last time he was little, too. Dad once found mashed potatoes in his ear."

Charlie laughed. "I was kind of wondering why he ate dinner in his underwear last night."

Dean snorted. "You kidding? Just existing next to a bottle of ketchup is asking for trouble. Forget actually putting it on a burger."

"It's hard to picture ultra-organized, super-neat Sam as a food-covered toddler," Charlie mused, watching as Sam fell onto his side in his seat in his attempt to lick the syrup out of his hair. "Guess he grew out of it sometime."

"Yeah, he learned some coordination eventually," Dean smirked. "Come on, Sammy," he said, scooping up the batter-covered boy, shrugging off his t-shirt as a loss. It was time to do laundry anyway.

"I'll get the dishes," Charlie said. "Looks like you've got your hands full enough."

"No, I'll get 'em," Dean protested.

"Don't worry about it," Charlie assured him. "I'll probably be done before you are," she teased.

* * *

"Alright," Charlie announced. She strode into the kitchen, duffle bag over her shoulder. "Little guy is down for a nap. You know, that three stories before going to sleep thing is quite a process. I was in there forever."

Dean chuckled. "Ah, you got played, kid." He placed the last of the clean dishes in the draining tray and turned around. "He gets one, and only one before nap time. If he gets one at all."

"Ooh, that little…" Charlie shook her head. "He really gets you with those big, sad eyes, doesn't he? Did you teach him that?"

"Like I would teach him something he can use on me," Dean snorted. "No one can stand up to those things. You going somewhere?" He nodded at the bag on her shoulder.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, got that flight to Spain." Her cheeks reddened. "I, uh, I was gonna go ahead and head out while Sam was asleep."

"Excuse me?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Well, see," she started, the flush in her cheeks deepening. "I feel like he's probably gonna cry, and I don't really know what to do with that, so…"

"Hell, no," Dean informed her, crossing his arms. "He'll be upset you're leaving as it is. You leave without saying goodbye, and I get stuck picking up the pieces of his little three year-old heart that thinks you don't love him."

"Okay, that's kinda harsh. I—"

"Your flight's not until 11:30 tonight. You've got time. You're staying."

"Fine," Charlie huffed.

"Good." Dean smiled again. "Drink? You might need it."

* * *

Sam padded into the kitchen a little while later, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Hi, Dean. Hi, Charlie. What's for snacks?" he asked, pulling himself up to the table.

"We'll have some cookies in a minute," Dean told him, smiling a little at the spark that brought to his eye. "But Charlie needs to talk to you first."

"Okay." Sam rotated in his chair to face Charlie. "What's in your bag? Is dat more stuff for playing? Cause I have a idea for a game we can play—" he started off excitedly.

"No, um, it's not for a game, it's…uh," Charlie sighed. "It's my stuff. My clothes and things."

"Are you doing laundrys?" Sam asked. "I can help! Dean sometimes let me put in de soap."

"No, I'm not doing laundry. I've packed it to take with me, see, because…well, because I have to leave."

Sam's face fell. "You're going away?" he asked softly.

"Yeah. I, uh…"

"But why?" Sam asked. "Don't you like it here?"

"I do," she assured him. "I really do."

"Den why are you going?" he persisted. "You can jus' stay. Me an' Dean like for you to be here. Right, Dean?" He looked to his brother for confirmation.

"Yeah, we do," Dean agreed, sliding closer to Sam and patting his arm.

"See?" Sam insisted, turning back to face Charlie. "You can stay! You can be like…" He bit his lip thoughtfully. "Me an' Dean bofe has a bruvver already. Cause he's my bruvver an' I'm his bruvver," he explained. "But we don' have a sister, an' you could stay an' be like our sister an' we could be like a family!"

"Oh," she groaned softly, something clenching in her chest.

"Please?" Sam blinked up at her, puppy-dog eyes in full force, big and sad and just a little misty.

"Sam, you and Dean are my family," she told him. "Really. I love both of you guys so much."

"So, you'll stay?" he asked hopefully.

Charlie sighed. "Sam, I…I can't."

"No!" Sam cried. The first tear dripped onto his round little cheek. "You said we're your family! An' family…family stays togevver! Dey don' go away!"

Dean looped an arm around Sam's shoulders and tugged him against his side. More tears started to fall, and Sam turned and buried his face in Dean's shirt. He hugged Sam closer and gave a sympathetic look to Charlie, who looked stricken.

"Sam?" She reached out a hand and paused, looking questioningly at Dean. He nodded, and she reached out and touched his cheek. "Hey, Sam, can you look at me?"

He turned one little teary eye to where she could see it.

"Family does stay together," she told him. "But sometimes, they do have to go away." He turned back into Dean's jacket, and she reached out and gently nudged his face back to look at her. "Hey. But being family? It means you'll always come back."

Sam considered this. "Always?" He sniffed.

"Every time," she assured him. "Castiel always come back, right?"

"I guess," Sam allowed.

"So I will too. I promise."

"But why do you have to go?" he pressed.

Charlie paused, unsure what Little Sam knew of the Mark and her quest. Probably not a lot. "I have to go," she said at last. "Because I have to go find something that will help Dean."

"Wif what?" Sam asked curiously.

"Some of that magic stuff," Dean said.

"For finding your friend?"

"No, this is something else," Dean explained. "It's, um, well, it's a bad thing that might happen, so Charlie has to find something that will help us stop it."

"Oh."

"Yeah, see, we don't know where this thing is, but Charlie's got some clues, and if anybody can find it, she can." Dean smiled at Charlie.

"Like a treasure hunt?" Sam asked interestedly.

"Yeah, kind of," Charlie agreed. "And it's important, otherwise, I wouldn't have to go."

Sam looked down at his lap. "But you'll come back after you find it?"

"As fast as I can," she promised.

"Okay," he sighed. "But I'll miss you."

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll miss you too, little dude. Now, c'mere and give me a hug."

Sam smiled, and slid off of Dean's lap into Charlie's arms. "Be careful," he told her. "Treasure hunts can sometimes be tricky," he told her, his little arms squeezing her tightly.

"I will," she assured him. She smiled up at Dean over the top of Sam's head. "And I'll find this thing," she promised.

Dean smiled. "I have full faith in my queen."

Charlie grinned and grabbed him with one arm, hugging both of the brothers tightly. After a long hug, she stood, slipping Sam into Dean's arms before they separated. "Alright, I guess that's it." She looked down at Sam. "You be good for Dean while I'm gone."

"I'm always good for Dean," Sam insisted, and they both laughed.

"Seriously, Charlie, you be careful out there," Dean said.

"Always am," she grinned. She hoisted her bag back onto her shoulder and moved towards the library, raising her hand in farewell. "Peace out, b—, um, guys." She waved and left the room, and a minute later, they heard the clang of the front door.

Sam sighed and snuggled into Dean's shoulder with a sniff.

"You alright, man?" Dean asked, looking down at his brother.

Sam sighed again. "Yeah," he said at last. He sat up and wiped at his eyes. "I will miss Charlie, dough."

"Me too, kiddo. But she'll be back."

"Ev'ybody leaves, dough," Sam complained. "Cassy-ell goes away a lot, an' Charlie's gone, an' I don' know where Daddy is, an' Mommy left when I was little." He sighed and slumped back down onto Dean's shoulder. Dean rubbed his back, and he tilted his head up to see Dean. "Will you go away too, Dee?"

"Aw, Sammy," Dean said sadly, looking down at Sam's sad, shining eyes. "You're never getting rid of me, kiddo."

Sam smiled, and flung his little arms around Dean's neck. "I'll stay wif you too, Dee. We won't eever of us get left alone."

"Darn right, we won't," Dean promised, giving Sam a quick squeeze and kissing the side of his head. "Now, what about those cookies, huh?"

"Are you letting me have cookies for snacks because I'm sad?" Sam asked.

The corner of Dean's mouth twitched up. "It'll make you feel better, right?" Sam nodded vigorously and Dean smiled. "Then it's just what Doctor Dean prescribes."

"You're not a doctor," Sam scoffed as Dean opened the cupboard. "Ooh! Can we have de enamem ones?" he asked, pointing at a package of M&M and chocolate chip cookies.

"Two M&M cookies, coming right up."

"Can I have free?" Sam asked, blinking up innocently at Dean. "I'm very sad about Charlie."

Dean stared down at Sam and burst out laughing. The kid was good.


	6. Chapter 6

_In this chapter, Little Sam has questions about the deeper things for Castiel, and Dean sings a lullaby._

* * *

Castiel began gathering the dishes from the table. Dean had gone to fetch something from the garage, and Sam was standing on his toes to set his plate by the sink. He then headed for the door, and Castiel assumed he was going to prepare for his bath, but the boy paused as he passed the table. He lingered a moment, then turned his eyes up to the angel.

"Cassy-ell?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes, Sam?"

"Can I ask you somefing?"

"Of course."

Instead of asking the question, however, Sam pulled himself into one of the chairs at the table. Castiel sat down across from him, sensing the matter was serious. Sam hesitated a moment, then hoisted himself onto the table, sitting cross-legged in front of Castiel so that he was eye-level with the angel. Castiel frowned. Very serious indeed, then.

"Is something troubling you, Sam?" he asked.

"Well," Sam sighed. He bit his lip thoughtfully. "So, you're a angel," he began at last.

"Yes." He wasn't sure where this was going.

"Do you…Do you ever go up to Heaven?"

"I do," Castiel allowed. "Not often."

"How comes?"

How to explain to a child the intricacies of angelic politics? "Well, I…" He found himself ashamed to admit to such an innocent the reasons he was not always welcome in his home. "My work is here," he said at last.

Sam nodded, seemingly satisfied. "But you can go dere if you want to?"

"Yes."

"When you're dere, do you…" He trailed off again. Castiel still was unsure where this conversation was heading, but he could tell the point of it was weighing heavily on Sam's mind. He recognized the look of deeply concerned concentration, not so different at all from the way it appeared on his older face—usually in connection with Dean.

"Do you see de people dat are in Heaven?"

"What do you mean? The other angels?"

"No." Sam shook his head. "I mean like, like when people are good, an' den dey die an' go to Heaven—do you see _dose_ people?"

"Oh. Yes. I mean, I know where in Heaven they are, and, if I wish, I can see them." He recalled his favorite Heaven—it had been a long time since he had been, and he often missed the peaceful simplicity of that eternal Tuesday afternoon.

Sam was quiet for some time. Castiel could tell he was pondering his next question. "Is…" He drew in a deep breath. "Is my mommy dere?" he asked softly.

Something twinged in Castiel's chest. "Oh, Sam," he breathed. He looked into the earnest, hopeful eyes that stared back at him. "Yes. She is." He knew well where the Heaven was that John and Mary Winchester shared, having looked in often after getting to know their sons.

Sam nodded. "I fot she would be. Dean always said she was good." He drew in another deep breath. "Is dere…Can you…" He sighed. "Is dere a way for you to bring her back?"

"Bring her back?"

"To here," Sam specified. "For me an' Dean an' Daddy." He sighed. "I don' 'member Mommy," he said sadly. "I've seened pitchers of her, an' she was real pretty. An' Dean would always tell me dat she was a good mommy. Dean is sad dat she's gone. Even dough he's growed up now—I can tell. An' Daddy is sad too. Maybe if she was here, he could come back too an' we could all be togevver." He looked down at his lap, and something twisted in Castiel's stomach. "So can you?" Sam finished quietly.

Castiel looked into the trusting, watery hazel eyes staring up at his own, and suddenly felt the prickle of tears behind his eyes. He had seen such hopefulness, such innocence on Sam's face before, though it had been so long ago. He recalled with a sour taste in his mouth their first meeting, Sam, in awe of the angels and the confirmation of the faith he had held for so long…And he, seeing nothing but an abomination, caring only for his orders and nothing for the pure soul beneath the demon blood. The look on Sam's face as his hopes were crushed without a thought meant nothing to him then, though he could barely stand to remember it now. And now, he would have to do it again.

"Sam," he began slowly. "I…" he sighed. "I cannot. I am sorry."

The little face fell. "Why not?" he asked softly.

"I…" he started again and then stopped. A lie would be the swiftest, neatest way to deal with the problem. He never enjoyed lying to the brothers, and with Sam the way he was now, wholly believing in Castiel even though he had just shattered his dream, he just couldn't do it. "I would not be permitted to do so. The angels who guard the souls in Heaven, they would never allow one to be removed." Especially not by me, he thought grimly.

"How comes?"

"Well, there are rules that govern the universe," Castiel said with a sigh. "They are very complex, and I myself do not understand them all. But once a person dies, their soul cannot remain on the earth."

"Is day why ghosts are bad? 'Cause dey stayed here an' dey're breaking de rules?"

"Something like that," Castiel allowed.

Sam was quiet for several minutes, picking at the hem of his jeans while he thought. "Okay," he sighed. "I wouldn' want for a bad fing to happen to Mommy for breaking de rules. Or to you eever," he added, looking up at Castiel. He sighed, and his eyes watered again. "Is she okay? Up in Heaven by herself?"

On impulse, Castiel reached across the table and drew Sam to him in a hug. The little boy snuggled into his chest. "She is well, Sam," he promised him. He wished he could assure him that she was not alone, but he knew that Sam did not remember his father's death. To assuage his worry that his mother was alone by telling him his father was dead, and thus, with her, would not be of great comfort at the moment. "It is a very nice place, and she is well looked-after there."

"I wish I could see her," Sam whispered.

"I know."

"Next time you go to Heaven, can you check on her? Jus' to make sure she's alright. An' could you…" He sniffed. "Could you tell her dat I love her?" he whispered.

Castiel hugged him tighter. "Of course, Sam." He didn't know when that would be, given the state of things, but he fully intended to keep the promise at the earliest opportunity. "She already knows. But I will."

Sam hugged him, then pulled away, wiping at his eyes. "Fanks, Cassy-ell." He sighed. "I should go an' get my baff now." He slid down, took a few steps, then turned and hugged Castiel around the knees. "I'm not mad at you, dat you can't do it," he assured him.

"I didn't think you were," Castiel said with a smile. He patted him on the head. "But, thank you. You should go and get your bath before Dean comes looking for you."

Sam nodded and left. Castiel returned to the clearing of the kitchen, so deep in thought that he startled when Dean came into the kitchen sometime later.

"Hey, man," Dean said. "You okay?"

Castiel nodded. "I was just considering a conversation I had with Sam."

"Yeah, I was gonna ask you about that. Did something happen? He seemed little off just now."

Castiel recounted the conversation they'd had while Dean was in the garage.

"Oh. Wow." Dean looked thoughtful. "Didn't see that coming."

"It is natural that he should be curious. I gather that your father was not particularly forthcoming with information about your mother when you were young."

"Not so much," Dean agreed.

"And Sam has always been interested in the deeper side of things. To be honest, conversing with him tonight reminded me greatly of when he would question me on spiritual matters when he was grown."

Dean chuckled. "He always was a deep little sucker. And hey, thanks. Sorry if the whole thing got awkward with him tonight."

"Do not be," Castiel assured him. "It has given me something to think about."

* * *

Dean left Cas in the kitchen and returned to his room to find Sam had gotten into his pajamas and was settling himself into his side of the bed.

"Ready for bed, kiddo?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

Dean sat down on the side of the bed. "So, uh, Cas told me you were asking him about Heaven tonight."

Sam shuffled down into the bed and didn't say anything.

"Hey, it's alright, man. You didn't do anything wrong. You're allowed to ask questions." Sam looked back up at him. "And you know," he nudged him with his arm. "If you want to talk about Mom, you can always ask me."

"I just fot it would be nice if he could bring her back," Sam sighed.

"I know. I think it would too," Dean agreed.

"Can you tell me about her?" Sam asked after a minute.

Dean sighed and stretched out, lying back on the bed. He reached out an arm and pulled Sam in closer. "Her hair smelled like raspberries. She would hum when she worked in the garden, and her favorite snacks were those orange creamsicles."

"I like dose."

Dean smiled. "She used to call you 'Sammy-Bear'. At night, she would give you a bath in the sink, and you had this little rubber duck with a fireman hat. You would splash and get water everywhere, and she would laugh and blow bubbles with the shampoo in your hair. Then she'd take you upstairs and sit in the rocking chair and give you a bottle. She had a special song she would sing to you while she rocked. Then she would put you in your crib, and tickle your tummy like this." He sat up and nuzzled Sam's belly with his face. "Except she didn't have scratchy whiskers like me." Sam giggled.

"Then, she would bump your nose, like this." He leaned forward and nuzzled Sam's nose with his own. "Then kiss you on the head, like this." He planted a soft kiss on Sam's forehead. "She'd brush your hair out of your eyes," he said softly, running his hand through Sam's hair. "And she'd say 'Goodnight, love'. Then she'd lift me up over the rail so I could tell you goodnight, and we'd go to the door, turn off the light, and she would blow you a kiss."

Sam turned into Dean's side and yawned. "Did she sing for you too?"

"Yeah. She had a special song for me too." Dean smiled, her voice singing the soft strains of 'Hey, Jude' in the back of his head.

"Do you know what mine was?" Sam asked sleepily, his eyes drifting shut. "I don' 'member."

"Mm-hmm. You want me to sing it?"

Sam nodded.

Dean leaned over Sam to turn off the lamp, tucking him closer into his side as he lay back down. "Ooh, child, things are gonna get easier," he started. "Ooh-oo, child, things'll get brighter." He cleared his throat and swallowed down a lump before continuing.

"Someday, we'll get it together and we'll get it all done. Someday, when your head is much lighter. Someday, yeah, we'll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun. Someday, when the world is much brighter…"


	7. Chapter 7

_I was re-watching Season 11-and really, there are just some good, solid stories in that one-and as I watched 'Beyond The Mat', the image of how much fun Little Sammy would have watching a match with Dean came to me, and, well, here we are._

* * *

"Dean, how comes you're in my room? Ooh! Whatcha watchin'?" Sam asked, clambering up onto the mattress by Dean's outstretched legs.

"Sammy, you're supposed to be in bed," Dean said with a frown. It was two in the morning.

"I was in bed, but den I had to go to de baffroom, and den, you're not in dere, an' I saw de TV light was on. Whatcha watchin'?" he asked again.

"How did you know it was the TV light?" Dean asked suspiciously. He'd had the door shut to keep the noise from waking Sam.

"Cause I saw it under de door de same like when Cassy-ell watches TV at night."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "How do you know Cas watches TV at night?"

"Oh. Um…" Sam bit on the tip of his finger, unsure of how much to give away.

"Sam…"

"Sometimes he lets me watch it wif him?"

Dean bit back a smile. Was the question supposed to make it more innocent? "You watch TV with Cas in the middle of the night?"

"Not all de nights!" Sam insisted. "Not most of dem, really. But some of de nights, he watches Ninja Turtles, an' if I get up an' go to de baffroom an' see him, he lets me stay." He looked up at Dean uncertainly. "Am I in trouble?"

Dean smiled. "Nah. Wait, does he come and put you back in bed when you're done?" Every morning when he woke up, Sam was sprawled across the mattress next to him.

Sam shrugged. "I guess. I most times fall asleep 'fore it's over."

Dean made a face. How had he been missing that?

"So…" Sam started. He scooted closer to Dean, blinking up innocently. "Can I watch your show wif you?"

Dean rolled his eyes. Freakin' puppy dog eyes. "Sure."

Sam beamed and bounced up the bed and snuggled against Dean's side. "Whatcha watchin'? he asked for the third time.

Dean had come across an ad earlier in the day for a Top Notch Wrestling match, and feeling nostalgic, had decided to get up to watch. "You remember this one?" he asked, turning off the mute as the theme tune played over the wrestlers' introductions.

Sam studied the screen for a minute, then smiled. "Is dis Daddy's fighting show?"

Dean laughed. "Yep." He didn't remember quite when Dad had started taking them to matches, but even before that, whenever there was a fight, it was usually on in their motel room.

"Who do we cheer for?"

"Well, in this round, we like that guy," Dean said, pointing to the screen. "Gunner Lawless."

The match started with a clanging bell, and Sam watched wide-eyed, gasping when Gunner slammed his opponent to the ground. "It's okay," Dean assured him. "It's like in a movie—they're just pretending to fight. He's not really hurting him." Probably.

"Oh." Sam relaxed. "Hey!" he yelled at the screen. Gunner's opponent surged up from the ground and grabbed his arm, swinging him into the ropes. "Get him!" Sam yelled as Gunner got to his feet. He swung a little fist as Gunner did the same, sending the other wrestler back to the ground. "Yay!" Sam cheered. Dean grinned.

The match went on for another twenty minutes, by the end of which Sam was jumping on the bed in his excitement. He'd swung at the air and shouted along with Dean, occasionally glancing up at his big brother to make sure he was getting the moves or the words right. Dean felt an unexpected catch in his throat when he realized that was what Sam was doing. He still did that when he was big, sometimes, those quick glances seeking approval.

"Come on, come on," Dean muttered at the screen. Gunner had slammed his opponent to the ground once more, and the ref was starting the countdown.

"You stay dere!" Sam yelled, pointing a little finger at the man on the ground, and Dean couldn't help but laugh. Gunner had almost won five minutes ago, but the other man had jumped back up when the ref hit eight, and Dean had to take a minute to explain the countdown to Sam. "Stay on de floor!"

The man did, the count hit ten, and the crowd cheered. "Yes!" Dean punched a victorious fist into the air.

"Did he win?" Sam asked hopefully.

"Yeah, he did, look." Dean pointed at the screen where Gunner was raising his arms, strutting around the stage and basking in the applause.

"Yay!" Sam clapped his hands and bounced on the bed. "Good job!" The image changed to commercials and Dean muted the sound again. "Is dere anuvver one?" Sam asked excitedly.

Dean chuckled. "That's it for tonight, man."

"Dat was cool," Sam declared. "Did you see how he knocked him down an' jumped on him like dis?"

"Whoa!" Dean exclaimed as Sam jumped, rolling out of the way of what was a passable drive with his elbow for a three year-old. "Watch where you're aiming, buddy," Dean warned, crossing his legs. "Pretend fighting, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. He went like dis!" Sam jumped and did the move again onto the mattress.

"Yeah, that was cool," Dean agreed. He grinned. "What about when he went like this?" He grabbed Sam up off the bed. "And did that?" He—carefully—mimicked the body-slam and tossed the boy back onto the mattress where he landed with a bounce and a squeal.

"An' dis one!" Sam rolled away from Dean and scrambled up the headboard, launching himself off onto Dean's back and pushing him down onto the mattress.

"What about this?" Dean rolled over, flipping Sam and pinning him to the bed, then started tickling his feet.

Sam squealed and wriggled in a futile attempt to get out from under him. "No fair!" he yelled between giggles. "Dey didn' do dat on de show!"

"Tryin' some new moves here," Dean announced, yanking up Sam's pajama shirt and blowing a raspberry on his exposed belly.

Sam laughed and squirmed, and when Dean let him up he rolled away, going right off the side of the bed.

"Sammy?" Dean crawled to the edge of the bed and looked over, confused when there was nothing there. "Oof!" he grunted a second later, when thirty pounds of little brother slammed into the back of his legs and knocked him flat onto the mattress.

"Gotcha!" Sam crowed triumphantly from his perch on Dean's back.

Carefully, so as not to dislodge his little brother, Dean rolled over until Sam was sitting on his stomach. "You sure did, buddy. How'd you do that?"

Sam grinned. "I rolled under de bed and jumped up de uvver side," he explained.

"Huh." Dean was impressed. "Nice job, little man. I think you won."

"Really?" Sam's eyes sparkled.

"Yup." Dean sat up, pulling Sam into a hug. "That was a nice move."

Sam beamed, then yawned, and hugged Dean tighter.

"And I think it's time for the winner," he poked Sam's nose. "And the loser," he added, stifling his own yawn. "To go back to bed."

"Aw," Sam pouted.

"C'mon." Dean wrapped an arm around Sam and stood, grabbing up the remote and switching the silent TV off.

Sam nuzzled his head into Dean's shoulder as they crossed the hall. "I had fun wrasslin' wif you tonight," he said sleepily. "We don' so much do dat anymore." He looked up as Dean tucked him into his side of the bed. "Can we play it again sometime?"

Dean considered as he climbed into his side of the bed. They _had_ done that an awful lot when they were kids. Obviously, they didn't really do it much now, but it hadn't occurred to him as something to do with Mini-Sam because he was…well, _Mini_ -Sam. Kid was freaking tiny. Still… "Yeah, Sammy, we can do it again."

Sam rolled himself into Dean's side as soon as he was settled under the covers. "Kay," he yawned. He cracked an eye open and grinned at Dean. "Maybe you can beat me next time."


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: This one goes out to NinjaGidget! Mini-Sam meets, and subsequently disapproves of, Crowley._

* * *

A buzzing, clattering sound echoed through the library. Sam looked up from his toys on the floor and watched Dean's phone vibrate its way across the table. "Dean!" he yelled. "Your phone is ringing!"

Sam watched the phone as it moved and Dean failed to appear. He climbed up into a chair and studied it for a moment, then poked thoughtfully at a few of the lights until it stopped. "H'lo?" he said, pulling it up to his ear.

"Ah, Squirrel!" a voice replied. "For a moment I thought you were ignoring me."

"Dis is not a squirrel's phone," Sam said, his little brow wrinkling in confusion.

The voice on the other end stopped short. "What? Who is this?"

"Who is _dis_?" Sam demanded.

"Crowley. Who the hell is this?"

Sam bristled. "Don' say bad words at me!"

An irritated sigh escaped the phone. "Little child," it said, trying for patience. "I don't know why you have Dean's phone, but will you give it to him?" A pause, then very begrudgingly, "please?"

"He's not here," Sam replied. "Bye."

"No, wait—"

Sam pulled the phone away from his ear and tapped at a red light on the screen, ending the conversation.

"Who are you talking to, buddy?" Dean asked, walking back into the library.

"Your phone."

"Sammy," Dean reprimanded. "You're not supposed to play with my phone."

"I wasn' playing," Sam insisted. "It ringed, an' I answered it. Dere was a cranky man who wanted to talk to a squirrel."

"A…" Dean's eyebrows rose in alarm. "Crap. What did you say to him?" The last thing he needed was Crowley knowing about Mini-Sam.

Sam shrugged. "I said dere was no squirrels here, an' den he wanted to talk to you, an' I said you weren't here eever."

"Did you tell him your name?"

"No."

"Okay." Dean took the phone from Sam. He'd call Crowley later and see what he wanted. "You ready for lunch? We're gonna go meet Cas in town."

"Yeah! Lemme get my shoes!" He sped away.

* * *

They were finishing up at the diner when a dark-suited figure slipped into the empty seat next to Castiel, beaming. "So, it's true," Crowley remarked gleefully, sparkling eyes resting on where Sam was seated between Dean and the window. "When I heard, of course, I had to come and see the little mooseling for myself. How did it happen?" he asked, folding his hands together and blinking at Dean eagerly.

"Wh—?" Dean stammered, startled by his sudden appearance. "What are you…how did you know about this?" he hissed.

"My curiosity was aroused after my phone call this morning. You hardly seem like the baby-sitting type. So, I asked around."

"Who even knows about this?" Dean demanded. He'd been very careful to keep the news of Sam's miniaturization as quiet as possible.

Crowley waved a dismissive hand. "Relax, the pipsqueak's safe. I've got resources no one else does and made some deductions from your shopping list."

"Dean, who is dis?" Sam asked, patting at Dean's sleeve.

"We spoke on the phone this morning," Crowley jumped in before Dean could respond. "My name is Crowley."

"Are you Dean's friend?" Sam asked curiously.

"Of course. I'm his best friend."

"No," Dean cut in. "No, you're not. Seriously, you need to stop it with that, alright?"

Sam squinted suspiciously. "Are you Cassy-ell's friend, den?"

"No," Castiel said firmly.

Crowley placed an offended hand over his heart. "I'm hurt. Here I am, doing nothing but offering to help, and this is the kind of reception I get?"

"Help with what? You haven't offered anything," Dean pointed out.

"With that," Crowley said, waving a hand at Sam. "And I was working up to it."

"What is he helping wif?" Sam asked. Dean didn't reply, considering.

"Dean," Castiel warned. "This cannot be a good idea." He turned to Sam. "Do nothing this man says, Sam. He is not to be trusted."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "How comes?"

"Ignore him, Sam," Crowley said with a smile. "I'm as trustworthy as they come."

Dean snorted. "I'm not even gonna dignify that with a response. What are you offering?"

Crowley smirked. "Standard offer. Pucker up, and you get ten years to enjoy the company of the Moose in his unaltered, natural gigantic state."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Seriously?"

"I might be persuaded to make it eleven for a friend."

"Cassy-ell," Sam asked across the table in a stage whisper. "What's goin' on?"

"Crowley is attempting to make an ill-advised business arrangement, and Dean is refusing," he explained.

Sam's eyes narrowed in consideration. "Cause we shouldn' listen to Crowley?" he asked, seeking clarification.

"That is correct."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Dean told Crowley. "We've got it covered."

Crowley cast a pointed look in Sam's direction. "Oh, yes, it seems to have worked out well."

"It's in process," Dean growled. "You done?"

"Hardly. Don't I get a chance to engage with Mini-Moose?" he asked innocently.

"No."

"I'm sure Sam wants to talk to me, don't you, little man?" Crowley asked, turning to Sam with a winning smile.

Sam studied him for a long moment. "I don't fink so," he said at last.

"What?" Crowley looked genuinely surprised. "Why not?"

"I don't fink Dean likes you. An' Cassy-ell says to not trust you, an' if a angel says someone is bad, den you should listen."

Dean smirked as Crowley gaped.

"But surely you're old enough to have opinions of your own," Crowley argued, regaining his composure. "Forget Dean and Feathers. What do _you_ think?"

"I fink dat you said bad words at me on de phone, an' dat's not very nice," Sam declared. "An' you're all kind of…" He scrunched up his face and waggled his fingers, unable to find the word he wanted. "Squicky," he said at last.

Dean laughed. "Good answer, Sammy." He stood, scooping his little brother up to sit on his hip. He turned to Crowley. "You find anything on the Mark, you call. Otherwise, I don't want to see you or any of your goons around me or my little brother, you got that?" he said sternly.

Crowley sighed. "It's sad to see an innocent mind poisoned so young. Fine. Enjoy your baby-sitting."

Dean nodded, threw a few bills on the table and left. When Cas moved to follow, Crowley remained where he was, blocking his exit.

"Let me pass," Cas said.

"No." Crowley grabbed a menu and began perusing it.

Castiel sighed. "Why must you be like this?"


End file.
